


but you're quicksand

by rumpledlinen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Genderswap, POV Niall Horan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall dyes her hair pink on a Tuesday. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(or, a lady university au.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you're quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> WOW OKAY THIS IS FINALLY DONE. this took me... a while to write. i started it when i was sad and lonely over the summer, and the wordcount isn't that high but man, did it take a long time. 
> 
> a thousand thanks to [mattie](http://hellagrumpy.tumblr.com), the best beta to work with. this thing would be a hot mess without her. :) another thousand thanks to [samantha](http://swamiface.tumblr.com), who listened to me shout about it and told me to write, goddammit. 
> 
> there's a lovely mix by mythmade that can be found [here](http://mythmade.tumblr.com/post/75770367338/but-youre-quicksand-the-fanmix-accompaniment-to) :) (seriously, it's amazing, i've listened to it a stupid lot already.)
> 
> a note, too: i didn't tag it because they're not endgame, but this fic contains zayn/perrie edwards, friends-with-benefits niall/liam, and past niall/jade thirlwall. 
> 
> disclaimer: this is especially not real. the title comes from taylor swift's treacherous.

notes: title from taylor swift’s treacherous.

but you’re quicksand

Niall dyes her hair pink on a Tuesday.

She doesn’t have a reason for it; she’s shopping at Tesco’s when she sees the garish box with the girl who looks very punk rockon the front. She buys it before she really thinks about it, smiles when she gets back home. It’s maybe a way for her to make a start, a new beginning. Different year, different girl. She dyes it in her own bathroom and leaves pink smudge marks everywhere (she’s bleached her hair before but fuck, that had never stained like this—she understands now why her mum’d always been hesitant to let her do it on her own).

It calms the shakiness in her fingers to look at it; something about the drastically different hair makes her heart calm, the constant worry of what am I going to do with my life lessen.

She walks down the stairs, fingering through the still-wet strands, and her mum stares at her, blinking. Niall forces a smile. “What d’you think?” she asks, doing a twirl.

“It looks nice,” her mother says after a moment, and nods at the table. “But these dishes aren’t going to do themselves, yeah?”

Niall grins and nods, hopping to it. She’s been at home for a week, visiting for Christmas, and she’s happy to help; she feels bad sometimes, her mum all alone in the big, big house she’d grown up in. It’s empty now without she and Greg to fill it, but her mum’ll never move in a million years.

She closes her eyes and forces herself to focus on the new song she’s been writing, humming the tune to herself. (You can’t go to bed without a cup of tea, she sings under her breath, and tries her hardest to ignore how severely it aches to think of Zayn like that, soft and half-asleep, smile on her face.)

It’s the last week of winter hols and she hasn’t seen any of them (Zayn) since Lou’s birthday (and oh, what a night that’d been). She feels heavy in her skinand for the last week she hasn’t wanted to deal with herself, much less anyone else.

This is okay, though. Niall nods to the beat of the song in her head, and in the corner of her eyes she can see the pink, hot and bright and real. She likes it—new year, new Niall, or something equally cliche and silly. She finishes the dishes, her hair mostly dried by now, and runs back upstairs. She fluffs up her fringe in the mirror, making faces at herself.

Yeah, she thinks, stomping back down the stupid, hollow emptiness in her chest. Yeah, this is good.

  
  
  
  


“I’m sorry, but where the fuck have you been?”

Niall wakes up with a start, rubbing blearily at her eyes. She yawns before opening them all the way, cracking her neck. Zayn’s standing in her doorway, hands on her hips.

“And what the fuck did you do to your hair?” Zayn asks with a frown.

Niall frowns back and smoothes it down. It’s less bubblegum pink now, more faded. “I, uh, dyed it,” she says and clears her throat. Her voice is rough and cracked with sleep. She feels suddenly stupid, and has to make herself look at Zayn, a little bit afraid everything’s going to show on her face. (Zayn’s always been able to read her better than most.)

Zayn’s eyes are wide, and Niall can see every secret she’s ever told her, every time Niall’s ever cried on her shoulder in the way she holds out her arms like Niall’s going to break. “Oh, Nialler,” she says, sitting next to her and pulling her close.

Niall closes her eyes, leaning her head on Zayn’s shoulder. She feels absurdly protective of her decision (it’s not like she’s ever mentioned Zayn’s thirty thousand tattoos, half of which don’t even have a fucking meaning, has she?). “Don’t be mad at me,” she whispers, sounding every inch a petulant child.

Zayn laughs, reaching out to brush at her fringe. “It looks good,” she says, soft. She studies Niall, lips pursed. (She’s taken her lip ring out, Niall thinks idly, and has an absurd urge to reach out and pet the place it was, rest her fingertips there. She swallows it back, puts a smile on her face.) She frowns again when Niall just looks at her, and pulls away the barest amount. “But where’ve you been? I swear, I’ve texted you a hundred times.”

Niall shrugs, looking at her toes, the bright blue nail varnish chipping off. “Here,” she says, voice too light. “Decided to come back home for a bit, help Mum out.” She flops down back onto her bed, feeling despondent (Zayn would be proud of her using a word like that, if she were to say it out loud).

Zayn lies next to her, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together. She’s close enough to touch, to kiss, and Niall closes her eyes against the urge. “You okay?” she whispers.

Niall shrugs.

“I’m seriously asking, you know.” Zayn nudges her, eyes soft and serious. Niall stares at her, not wanting to look away. “You can always tell me what’s wrong if you want, yeah?”

Niall presses her lips together, nodding. She feels it, feels everything ready to burst apart, but she keeps it down. “Later, yeah?” She sits up and stretches. The old t-shirt Zayn lent to her years ago rides up. She yawns and smiles at Zayn. “Can we have breakfast now?”

There’s something in Zayn’s face that Niall doesn’t like, but it’s gone in a moment. “Yeah,” Zayn says, smiling softly. She stands up and laces her fingers with Niall’s, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”

Niall leans into the touch and closes her eyes before following her out.

  
  


“You,” Lou starts with a finger pointed at her, “are a tit.” She grins, though, pressing a kiss to Niall’s cheek. “At least tell us when you’re going to leave for weeks, yeah? Less heart attacks on all our parts that way.”

“It was only a week!” Niall insists, but she’s laughing. It’s as though a ton of tension has been released from her; she’s missed this (though she hadn’t thought she would, in all honestly). Her hat almost falls off when Louis grabs her for a hug and she takes it off, tossing it aside with her jacket.

There’s a moment of silence, and then—

“What,” Harry says, slow, “did you do to your hair?”

Niall shrugs, licking her lips. (And why is it they keep asking what, instead of why?) “Wanted a change, y’know?”

Harry’s staring but she seems to have already accepted it, nodding with a wide grin. “It looks really good,” she says, ruffling her hair. Niall’s inexplicably pleased.

“All right,” Lou says, clapping her hands and looking at each of them in turn. “I am now twenty and therefore I am no longer a child, and thus I suggest… we have a party.”

Liam groans, walking in from the other room. “On one condition.”

“Liam Mary-Anne Payne—” Louis starts, hands on her hips.

“You know that isn’t my middle name, yeah?” Liam asks, dry, but there’s a grin tugging at her mouth.

Louise ignores her, pressing on as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “You know how I feel about cleaning.”

They bicker, and Niall sits down on the couch, leaning back and resting against Zayn. After a moment Harry sits down next to her, a hand on her shoulder, and Niall turns to grin at her. It’s only been a few days, she knows, but god she’s missed this. (These are her girls; they know her better than anyone else. She’s overcome with a wave of love and she turns, presses her lips against Zayn’s arm in a soft kiss. Zayn grins, and Niall lets the happiness wash over her. She feels better than she has in a long, long time.)

Louise eventually agrees that everyone who drinks has to help clean up, and Niall counts it as a success when the party they throw brings fifty people (in Lou and Liam’s flat, it seems like more, bodies pressed together). As far as she can tell, she knows everyone, which she counts as another win.

She loves this, really: the casual conversations, the dancing, the drinks. She’s promised herself not to get drunk, is alternating every drink with a Coke (for once, she wants to remember everything). She feels loose and happy, though, enjoyably tipsy. It makes her feel young and alive and a thousand other silly little things.

She dances with a pretty girl with dark hair and tan skin. She idly considers fucking her—but the girl is just this side of too drunk and Niall feels guilty, wouldn’t do that to anyone.

She grabs her heels when the party’s winding down, someone else taking over the music (there’s a song she doesn’t know with a shitty beat playing and she bobs her head, only a fraction of her mind on the music). She leans against the balcony railing, breathing out. She stares at the stars, letting the buzz of the party wash over her.

The door clicks open and Zayn walks out. She’s got a pack of cigarettes in one hand and her heels (stilettos,a full inch taller than Niall’s own) and a beer in the other. “Mind if I join you?” she asks with a grin. She’s pissed, Niall can tell by the thin edges of her accent seeping through. (She’s beautiful, Niall thinks, and blinks it away within a second.)

“Yeah, of course,” Niall says instead of the thousand things running through her mind. She hops up onto the railing, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Careful,” Zayn murmurs with a hand on her arm. Niall sucks in a breath but forces herself to smirk.

“You worry too much,” she breathes. For a second, she leans back too far and then Zayn’s standing between her legs, holding her by the waist, thumbs digging in just a bit too hard.

“Careful,” Zayn says again. There’s a smirk at the edges of her lips, an unspoken I told you and Niall wants to kiss it off.

She breathes, though, and very carefully does not do that.

Zayn steps away when she’s sure Niall won’t fall again and lights up, taking a long, slow drag.

“Christ, I need a drink,” Niall breathes out. It smells like weed and cigarettes and Zayn’s perfume, something dark and musky that she doesn’t recognize (she prefers fruity scents, things that smell like liquefied candy, herself—but on Zayn this works so much better).

Zayn smirks and breathes out smoke as she hands the bottle to Niall. “Only had a sip.”

“Thanks,” Niall says. She feels, suddenly, unsteady where she’s sitting and hops down, holding the beer loosely in her hand. She laughs, then. “What’d you say if I asked you for a smoke?”

“Piss off,” Zayn says, eyes closed and leaning back against the brick wall.

And there she is, Niall’s best friend; it makes her giggle so hard her body doubles over, her hair falling out of the half-knot she’d managed when still considering sleeping with the pretty dark-haired girl.

Zayn’s smiling at her, soft and sweet, and Niall licks her lips, the giggles fading away.

“What’s so funny?” Zayn asks around a mouth of smoke.

Niall swallows, and shakes her head. “Nothing, I suppose,” she says, so soft she can barely hear it.

They end up next to one another, Niall with her head on Zayn’s shoulder. She shivers one too many times and Zayn wraps an arm around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

“Mm, love you,” Niall whispers, because she does and because she’s half asleep and tipsy (but mostly because she feels it, and she’s always been the sort to say what she feels).

“Love you too, babe,” Zayn says. It only hurts a little, this having and not having. “But I think we need to get you back to a bed, yeah?”

Niall doesn’t say any of the things that run into her mind, only “Yeah,” and she prides herself on it.

They go back in, hand-in-hand and trying to be quiet. They head to the spare room, the one that was going to be Haz’s until she and Lou started shagging, and flop onto the shit pull-out couch. Niall pulls Zayn down with her, holding her too close and stroking through her hair, humming a tuneless noise.

Zayn huffs out a laugh, shifting until she’s more comfortable. “G’to sleep, love,” Zayn breathes. Within a few moments she’s out.

Niall, feeling absolutely comfortable, follows.

  
  
  


“Oi, lovebirds!”

Niall sits up with a start and frowns, squinting at the door. “What?” she whispers. She’s not really hungover but she feels achey and stiff (a night of sleeping with the world’s worst octopus will do that, she thinks) and she stretches, her dress all tugged out of place.

Lou rolls her eyes but looks fond, behind it. “We’re going out for food,” she says, too loud in the early morning. “Our dear Liam forgot to buy groceries, so—”

“Fuck’s sake, Lou, it was your turn,” Liam hisses, but she smiles when she sees Niall and Zayn tangled together. “You two get sorted, then?”

Niall’s eyes go wide, she’s sure of it, and Lou interrupts, still too loud. “Come, you’re not going out like that,” she insists, clapping her hands. She nods at the door, biting her lip.

Niall looks at Zayn and swallows. Her eyeliner is smeared and her hair is a wreck and Niall has never wanted to kiss anyone this much. She smiles when Zayn stirs.

“’s going on?” she mumbles.

“We’re going out,” Niall says, but Lou interrupts, voice shrill.

“Breakfast, Zayner!” She walks to the edge of the room and throws open the curtains.

“Bloody hell,” Zayn says and then, “I swear to fuck, Louise.” She sits up, pulling the blankets with her. She’s covered in creases from the old couch and the pattern is pressed into her cheek. “One of you lot is lending me clothes, then. Not going out in this.”

Liam nods, holding out an arm. Niall turns back to Louise, smile at her lips.

Lou pulls Niall with a smile and a waggle of her fingers. It’s not until they’re in her room that she lets the smile fade, the worry show through. “You and Z didn’t hook up, did you?”

Niall takes off her dress and shakes her head as she shrugs on the baby blue shirt Lou tosses at her. “Nah.” She tugs on the jeans. They sit lower on her hips than she’s used to, but at least they fit. She’s been in all the girls’ clothes at one point or another (Zayn’s are too big on her, much too big, but she sort of likes the way they fit best—she likes the way they envelop her in that ever-present smell of smoke and perfume) and Lou’s the closest to her size.

“You want to talk about it?” Lou asks.

Niall looks at her, wide-eyed and hands shaking, and Lou understands, doesn’t say anything else about it.

“Come on, then,” Lou says with a grin, putting her arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Let’s get a bacon sandwich, yeah?”

Niall rests her head on Louise’s shoulder on the ride over and tangles her fingers with Zayn’s. Liam’s smiling at them in the rearview mirror, but doesn’t say anything. Harry’s asleep in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard and mouth open, snoring softly. Lou looks at her, fond, and Niall feels a tightness in her chest. She turns until she’s pressed against Zayn instead, breathing in a shaky breath to ground herself.

They get to the restaurant and Lou presses kisses to Harry’s lips until she wakes up, her fingers pressed against Harry’s shoulder. Niall stretches as she gets out and, despite her slight hangover (more than slight, maybe, if the nausea she feels at the smell of the food is anything to go by), feels pretty content.

Zayn grins at her, that little half-grin Niall loves more than anything else.

Yeah, she’s content.

  
  
  
  


She spends three days at Lou and Liam’s sleeping on their massive couch, and very carefully does not think about Zayn (about dark hair and the kindest smile Niall’s ever seen, about short nails and—no, she doesn’t let herself think that way about her best friend) for all that time.

where are you? Zayn texts, and then god damn it niall where are you. She turns off her phone, bites her lip and fingers the key to her and Zayn’s flat.

Lou doesn’t say anything about it but sits with her, talking about uni and not much else (“I don’t have to declare a major until I graduate, Harry!” “Fuck’s sake, Louise, really?”) and for once doesn’t steal her food.

And Niall—she doesn’t know what to do. She’s fucked girls before, fell in love with Jade last year, but this is—feels like more, is the thing. Because it’s Zayn. She’s known Zayn since they were thirteen and in the same art class—

(Zayn ended up doing half her assignments because as they discovered, Niall is shit at art.

Anyone can do art, Zayn had drawled, voice rough even before all the cigarettes, and insisted, until Niall had called her at six in the morning on a Monday because my mobile fell apart! and Zayn had had to fix it for her, hair in a knot at the back of her neck and face free of make-up.

“It’s just a fucking mobile, jesus,” she’d breathed with an incredulous smile on her lips. She’d fixed it, though, making it better and fixing the (really sloppy) paint job. “How’d you even do this?”

Niall had shrugged, biting her lip. “I told you I was terrible at this stuff.”

“Okay, you’re shit at art,” she’d giggled, kissing Niall on the forehead (she smelled like raspberry, Niall’s never forgotten). “I’ll help you, just promise you won’t try to do things on your own.”

“Okay,” Niall’d said, turning pink and looking at her feet. And she hasn’t since.)

—and somewhere along the way Niall fell in love with a bright smile and dark hair, with the way her glasses slip on the edge of her nose and the way she snores a little bit when she’s asleep.

She hugs her knees to her chest. Lou paints her nails over, pressing her lips together as she concentrates, and Niall sings the song she’s been writing, soft.

“You’re good, you know?” Lou says, leaning back and blowing softly over her nails. “Coulda been famous if you hadn’t stuck with us lot.”

Niall grins, the corners of her mouth tilting up. “Wouldn’t trade it, though,” she says softly.

Lou laughs, presses a hand against her arm, warm, and looks at her with wide eyes. “You can talk to me, yeah?”

Niall breathes out. “I know.”

Lou frowns, and sits back on her heels, putting the cap back on the varnish, touching up the corner of her pinky. “Why don’t you go to your guys’ flat?”

Niall shrugs, hooking her chin on her knee. “Rather stay here for a day, if you don’t mind.”

Lou looks at her, twisting her mouth, gives a quick nod. And then, “D’you want to help me pull a prank on Liam?”

Niall grins, wide, and nods.

They put glue in Liam’s hat, giggling like mad, and they both freeze when they hear footsteps.

“Shit!” Lou hisses, and shoves Niall to the side, out the door.

She laughs and stops when she sees Zayn. She blinks. “Hi,” she says, feeling like an idiot (she’d figured Lou would tell her, or at the least Liam; evidently not).

Zayn’s face relaxes, but she still looks angry. “Why d’you always do this?” she breathes out, running a hand over her face. “You need to tell me when you’re going to fuck off.”

Niall shrugs, forcing a smile onto her face. “I, er, figured you’d figure it out?” she asks, crossing her arms and fidgeting. “Didn’t think about it, really.” I thought about you every hour she doesn’t say; too melodramatic for her, for them, and anyway she has no right to it.

Zayn’s face falls, and Niall feels like shit. She steps forward and wraps her arms around Zayn’s neck, ignoring the way she has to go on her tiptoes to properly hug her. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs into Zayn’s ear.

“s’okay,” Zayn says, and then she freezes. “Wait, what the fuck are you two doing?”

Niall lets go a little bit, turning to look at Louise, who’s standing in the doorway, sheepish, with her hands behind her back. She grins, wide, and turns back to look at Zayn. Their faces are close, and for a second Niall can’t breathe, wants, wants, wants.

She shakes that off, though, and forces out a laugh. If it’s a little bit higher than normal, well. “We’re pranking Liam.”

Zayn smirks, soft and dirty (and god, Niall wants to fuck her so bad—but she pushes it aside, always pushes it aside). “Let me help,” she murmurs, and Niall is so in love with her it almost hurts.

She goes back to her flat with Zayn, and they fall asleep on their shitty, uncomfortable couch watching an old movie Niall isn’t sure the name of. Zayn insists it’s fantastic (a fantastic representation of the early American ideal) and Niall’s sure it is, but she falls asleep half through, exhausted.

She wakes up with a blanket wrapped around her and a glass of water on the table next to her, and she closes her eyes past the wave of fondness coursing through her.

The sun’s barely out, but she sits upanyway, taking a sip of the water and closing her eyes. It’s good to be home; good to be back in her flat with her things and Zayn, Zayn everywhere.

She’s filled with a restless energy and she gets up, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she goes, and grabs her guitar. She plays softly enough to not wake Zayn, and she mumbles her lyrics, closing her eyes and letting it go through her. It’s softer than her usual stuff, more intimate (and Zayn bleeds through every line, she knows it).

She doesn’t write down her changes; she never has, prefers memorizing it to reading it off a page, and by the time she’s done tinkering with it she’s starving. She goes into the kitchen, fixing herself scrambled eggs and still humming, feeling blissful.

Zayn pads out of her room, yawning and stretching. “Morning,” she mumbles.

Niall turns to look at her. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s in only her knickers and a thin white tanktop that doesn’t hide much of anything, shows off all of her tattoos. Niall quickly goes back to her eggs because she can handle a lot of things, she really can, but not Zayn in the morning blinking sleepily at her with that soft smile on her face.

“Morning,” she says, too loud. “There’s tea, if you want it.”

“Mmm, ta,” Zayn mumbles, and Niall fixes it, hands it over without focusing too much on her, without touching their fingers together. She goes back to her food, and eats it while leaning against the counter, eyes shut.

It’s quiet, between them. Niall doesn’t talk, runs a finger through a pile of sugar on the counter when she’s done. There’s a tenseness in the air that she ignores.

Zayn’s the one to break it with an almost delicate clearing of her throat. “So, uh.” She pauses. “Are you mad at me or something?”

Niall looks at her, tilting her head. “What?”

“You’re just—you left, yeah? After, you know, falling off the Earth.” Zayn twists her hands together. “Are you planning on moving out or something?”

“No!” Niall insists. She sets her plate down and walks to Zayn, wrapping her in a hug. “Never, I swear. You’re gonna have to kick me out, Malik.”

Zayn’s hug is tentative. “You sure?”

Niall smiles, wide, feeling guilt course through her; but she nods. “Of course.”

“Stop doing that, then,” Zayn murmurs, holding her close enough that Niall can hear her heartbeat. “I miss you, love.”

Niall laughs. “I’m right here.”

“I know.” Zayn hugs her tighter, rests her head on top of Niall’s. “Just feels different, y’know? Miss how it was.”

“I know,” Niall murmurs, and relaxes against her. “I miss it, too.”

One morning Perrie’s there, drinking tea out of Niall’s third-favorite mug and smiling at her. Her limbs are loose and she’s in Zayn’s knickers and shirt.

“You and Zayn, eh?” Niall asks, smile too wide.

Perrie just giggles, too out of it to notice anything. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is low and dark, so much a contrast from Niall’s.

She slams down the kettle perhaps a bit too hard, but lets the irritation flow through her. Zayn hadn’t told her, hadn’t mentioned—maybe it’s best, though, because Niall likes to think she’s a good person but she may not have been able to stop herself trying to sabotage this.

She turns around, smile on her face. “Zayn’s terrible to sleep with,” she says, “and worse to wake up, but I hope you guys are happy.” She means it (mostly).

Perrie snorts. “Think it’s worth it, though, yeah?”

It would be, Niall feels at the back of her teeth and doesn’t say, very carefully doesn’t say. She just nods.

Zayn walks out of her room and kisses Perrie, easy and light.

Niall sucks her cheek in and bites it hard, until she feels less like she’s going to hit something. She drains her tea in a gulp.

“Think I’m going to go out,” she says, nodding.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“I didn’t mean now,” she scoffs. “Later. Just—you’re welcome to join, if you’d like.” Please say no, she thinks.

Perrie shrugs. “Don’t think I’m up for a party tonight, if I’m honest,” she says. “Next time, though, I promise.” She squeezes Niall’s hand. She smells like Zayn.

Niall nods, tries and fails not to be grateful. She puts her mug in the sink and walks out, head spinning.

Niall goes out alone, thinks about calling Jesy and settles on not (she hears they’re together now, she and Jade, and she doesn’t want to cause anything else). She wears a short pink dress and flats. When she spins around too much her skirt flies up, shows off her knickers.

“Looking good, girl!” Louise shouts when Niall walks into the living room. She’s draped over Harry, taking her crisps when she’s not looking. Zayn’s there cuddled next to Perrie, who fits into the group seamlessly. They’re all sat around the coffee table, a half-empty pizza box and three bottles of wine on it. There’s something with explosions going on the TV; Niall almost wants to stay.

And then Perrie giggles and Zayn kisses her, and she twists her mouth. Gotta get laid, she thinks, nodding to herself; get laid and then you’ll forget all about Zayn.

“You do look good,” Zayn says, sending Niall a soft smile. Niall goes pink. Fuck.

“Where’s Liam?” she asks instead of saying something silly, grabbing her clutch off the table.

“Ah, she’s got an exam she says she has to study for,” Louise says, waving her hand and letting her eyes slip shut.

“Technically, I do, too,” Harry murmurs, making no move to leave.

“Harriet Anne Styles!” Louise shouts, sitting up indignantly. “It’s a Saturday night, studying’s for Sunday!”

Niall laughs and leaves them to their bickering, stepping out into the cool night air.

Niall dances her way up to her flat, feels high off her orgasms (the girl a pretty redhead, so different from Zayn, with nails just the right length and a fucking wicked mouth) and slams the door open, cringing a bit.

Zayn looks up from the couch.She’s in sweats and socks, a black tanktop barely covering her stomach. “Shut it, will you? It’s one in the morning.”

Niall shakes her head. “Dance with me!” she insists, grinning too wide.

Zayn frowns at her over the top of her glasses but can’t keep it up, laughing after a moment. “You’re pissed.”

Niall holds up her forefinger and thumb just a bit apart, giving her a wink and a shake of her bum. “Dance!” she shouts again, grabbing Zayn and dragging her up. She sings loudly and tunelessly, spinning with Zayn around the room.

“Shut up, you prat, you’ll wake everyone else!” Zayn hisses.

Niall spins faster, letting her humming get softer. “Better?” she asks in a mock whisper.

Zayn stumbles but rights herself quickly, wrapping her hands around Niall’s waist. Niall goes warm all over and grins, biting her lip. She has to tilt her head up to look at Zayn, properly, but it’s not like when they go out and Niall wears her worn-down flats. “Yeah,” Zayn murmurs.

Niall snorts and pulls Zayn, too hard—she falls over onto the couch, dragging Zayn with her.

Zayn laughs, a high, bright sound, and pushes at Niall. “Get off, y’idiot.”

The corners of Niall’s mouth turn up and she can’t keep the giggles in. Zayn’s still sprawled on top of her, taking up all of her space, and she smells like jasmine and cinnamon. Niall takes in a shaky breath, suddenly feeling unsteady. She notices when she wobbles, this time, pushing herself up a bit.

Zayn moves to sprawl next to Niall, eyes shut. Her eyelashes are so long, Niall thinks, and reaches out to touch them. She misses, and hits Zayn’s nose. Zayn frowns, blinking at her. “Y’should get sleep,” she says, sounding exhausted.

Niall shrugs and lies where she is.

“I meant in your bed.”

Niall shrugs. “There’s people there, aren’t there?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got a big bed. You can all fit.”

Niall shrugs. “I prefer not to,” she says, just this shy of bitchy.

“Fine.” Zayn stands up. Niall watches as she stretches, the bottom of her shirt riding up. “Don’t come whining to me about your back tomorrow then, yeah?”

Niall gives her the best innocent smile she can manage (they both know she’ll complain the whole day and Zayn will pretend not to care about her headache or sore back or anything, but Niall’s going to find paracetamol in her purse). Zayn walks off.

She falls asleep between one breath and the next.

“My head,” Niall groans, sitting up.

Perrie’s at the kitchen table, knees to her chest, eating an apple. “Morning, love,” she says, entirely too loud and cheerful for the morning.

Niall glares at her. Perrie slides a cup of tea across to her, smiling and tilting her head. “Rough night?”

“Loud,” Niall says, plaintive.

“Thought you didn’t usually get drunk.”

Niall glares at her, nodding her chin in what she hopes is a questioning manner.

Perrie cracks a grin. “Zayn’s told me about the lads you’ve drunk under the table.”

Wasn’t heartbroken then, was I, Niall thinks but doesn’t say (even in her hangover-addled mind she knows that isn’t fair). She cracks a grin. “They drink tequila ‘n shit, rich pricks. Last night it was those horrible fruit drinks that’re loaded with alcohol.”

Perrie nods, taking a sip of her tea and looking contemplatively at her. “D’you at least get laid, then?”

Niall doesn’t answer but she smirks, remembering through the fog (god, she was gorgeous; Niall almost regrets not getting her number). She shrugs.

Perrie’s still giggling at her when Zayn walks in, scratching at her stomach. She raises an eyebrow. “Mm?” she asks, kissing the top of Perrie’s head.

Niall’s stomach sort of aches at that. She swallows and looks at her mug. She feels out of place here.

“Our Niall got laid,” Perrie says around a smile.

“Finally,” Zayn says. “Will you stop being such a tit now?”

Niall rolls her eyes and kicks at Perrie, grinning when she gets an oi! in response. She leans her head back. Zayn comes over and leans against her chair, threading her fingers through her hair.

“You need to dye your hair again,” she says. Niall shrugs, smiling.

“Later,” she says. She feels quintessentially young, like she’s from one of those films with a tinted filter and a girl smoking a cigarette and deciding what she wants to do with her life. She wants a thousand things but she’s stuck in the moment, and it’s not a bad thing; she feels older and younger than she is, all at once. It overwhelms her for a moment, and then—

She smiles, and breathes, and it’s all right.

“So,” Zayn starts, walking into the flat when Niall’s practicing a song for her guitar class. She’s got her bookbag on her shoulders and a snapback on her head. “Me and Pez.”

Niall frowns. “Yeah?” She sets her guitar to the side, stretching out her fingers. “What about you guys, did you have a fight?”

“No!” Zayn says, shaking her head and waving a hand. She runs that hand through her hair and drops it to her side, almost awkward. “What do you think of her?”

Niall shrugs. “She’s great, seems to really like you.”

Zayn sits down next to her, close enough that their knees touch. “Yeah, but what do you think of her?”

Niall smiles, biting her lip. “Are you asking me because you won’t date her without my opinion?”

“I’ll take it under advisement, that’s all,” says Zayn, carefully not looking at Niall.

Niall laughs. “Well, I really do think she’s great. Back when I was dating Jade—” and it doesn’t hurt at all, saying that, “she was always really kind to me. Funny, too.”

Zayn nods, swallowing. “Good,” she says. “So—you think she’s good for me?” The question seems to have another layer behind the words themselves, but Niall can’t parse it out.

“Yeah,” she says, and it sounds to her own ears like heartbreak but Zayn just nods, accepts it at face value. (There was a time, once, when Niall wouldn’t have had to lie, wouldn’t want to say please, please, want me instead at every turn—but that time’s gone, now.)

“Good,” she murmurs, “because I think—I think I’m in love with her.” She curls in toward Niall, resting her head on her chest.

“It’s only been a week, hasn’t it?” Niall murmurs.

Zayn stiffens. “I know,” she says, too quick, voice higher than normal but still rough, “I just—”

“Relax,” Niall says, giving her a reassuring hug. “I’m just saying—it’s good that you found her, then. Someone who makes you so happy.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. She sounds inexplicably sad, but Niall lets it go.

“Play something for me,” Zayn says, so Niall does, plays As Long As You Love Me slower than the original, her voice high and light over the notes.

Zayn joins her on the chorus, an octave below her and still so good. Niall harmonizes, smiles down at her fingers when Zayn taps her foot, tilts her head back and closes her eyes.

“You’ve got a pretty voice,” Zayn says. “You should do gigs again.” She nudges their feet together.

“I know,” Niall murmurs. “I think—think I’m gonna talk to that place Haz’s band’s always playing at? See if they’re looking for anyone else.”

Zayn smiles, nods. “Then you better get to practicing,” she says. “Written anything new?”

Niall shakes her head. “Just going to do covers,” she says on a shrug.

“Let me hear another, then.”

She plays The Cab’s Endlessly, smiling when Zayn hums along. “Thought you didn’t like them,” she says, setting her guitar to the side and flexing her fingers.

Zayn shrugs. “You play it all the time, don’t you,” she shrugs. “Gets stuck in my head, had to put it on my iPod.”

“I’m honored,” Niall teases. She stands up, cracking her back. “I’m making tea, want any?”

“Of course,” Zayn says with a smile, and nudges her with her foot. “And hey—thanks.”

Niall smiles back.

She’s inexplicably nervous before her gig, palms sweating.

“Hey,” Liam says, nudging her with her hip. “You’re going to do fantastic, all right? You’ll be so good you’ll get everyone in the place to buy you a pint.”

Niall closes her eyes, nodding and letting Liam’s words wash over her. “Yeah,” she breathes.

“And if you suck,” Louise says from where she’s hanging off of Harry in some bizarre piggyback ride, “we’ll console you with more drinks! So many drinks you won’t remember it tomorrow.”

Niall rolls her eyes but inwardly she’s glad for the encouragement of sorts. “Where’s Zayn?” she asks, voice carefully light.

“She’s off getting a drink with Perrie,” Harry says, slow and kind.

It still feels like a punch to the heart; even though they’ve been together for—fuck, weeks now—she can’t help the hurt, the want. She forces a smile, cracks her neck. “That’s good,” she says. “When she gets bored, she’ll have someone other than you lot to talk to.”

“Niall,” Liam says.

Niall shrugs her off. “I’m fine.” She spins around. “How do I look?”

“I’d do you,” says Louise with a shrug, hopping off of Harry’s back (Hey, she says, but she’s giggling). Louise presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “You’re going to absolutely smash it.”

Zayn walks up to them, fingers laced with Perrie’s, beer in hand. “Break a leg,” she tells Niall, endlessly kind.

“Yeah,” Niall says, and tries very hard not to be sick.

It goes really well—she flubs her words on the first song, As Long As You Love Me but she gets into it by her second, rocking back and forth and closing her eyes.

She ends with Teenage Dream because she knows it better than most—it was the first song she’d taught herself and she plays it to calm herself down.

“Let’s run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back,” she sings, and if her eyes meet Zayn’s and she feels a stab of want—well, it’s not her fault.

“Great job, babe,” Zayn says, pulling her in for a hug, and Niall closes her eyes and accepts it, smile on her face. She pushes aside the want because—performing, that’s all she’s ever wanted to do and she’s doing it again, fuck.

“You rocked the fuck out of it,” Louise says, kissing her again on the cheek. She leaves a wet lipstick print that Niall doesn’t bother to wash off.

She links their fingers and nods, draining a pint glass in one gulp. “Hell yeah, I did,” she says. When she turns to look at Zayn, she’s off giggling with Perrie, and her good mood dims, a bit.

“Hey,” Liam whispers in her ear. “You want to go? We’ll go to McDonald’s or something, get you a milkshake.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Niall says on a smile. She gets up, a little bit unsteady in her heels, and after a moment of thought takes them off. “Anyone else for a McDonald’s run?”

Harry and Louise come along, and it’s the four of them, arm-in-arm, running down the street to the nearest fast-food place they can find. They could get a cab but Niall prefers this, running as fast as she can in the fall air, laughing until her lungs hurt.

She gets a milkshake and the biggest order of fries they have, inhaling her food.

“Jesus, Niall,” Harry says, but she sounds impressed.

Niall shrugs, wiping at her mouth. “I’m a growing woman. I need food.”

Harry laughs at her and that gets all of them laughing. Niall rests her head on Liam’s shoulder and just listens to the three of them talk, as she has for years and years.

After an hour or two Zayn shows up as well, Perrie gone. “She has an exam tomorrow,” Zayn explains, shrugging. “She went back to ours.”

Niall makes a soft noise, opening her eyes just long enough to wave her hand. “I’m napping,” she informs them.

“Yes you are, darling,” Liam says with a placating pat of her head, shifting so Niall’s more comfortable.

“Love you,” she breathes, opening her eyes to smile at Liam.

Zayn’s staring at the two of them, a strange expression on her face—hurt, or anger, or something Niall can’t place.

“You okay?” Louise asks, nudging Zayn, and it goes away as quickly as it’d come.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just knackered.” She stretches, and leans back against the booth. “Had fun tonight, though. You’re gonna start performing again, then?”

Niall nods, still not opening her eyes. “Want to,” she mumbles.

“I think that’s our cue,” Zayn says with a laugh, standing up (Niall can hear her heels click on the tile). “I’ll take her back, Li.”

“You want to go?” Liam asks, sitting up so Niall can too. She nods, reaching out for Zayn and all but falling into her.

“I’ll call the cab, you just lean on me,” Zayn murmurs.

Niall presses her face into Zayn’s shoulder, smiles a sleepy smile. “I love you, too,” she says. “You’re the best.”

Zayn laughs, shaking her head. “You’re pissed.”

“Only had a few,” Niall protests. “Mean it, though. You’re… lovely. Lovely Zayn. Perrie’s lovely, too, lovely and pretty.” She yawns, enough that her jaw cracks with it. She blinks. “Where’s the cab?”

“Dunno,” Zayn says. It’s only then that Niall notices she’s shivering, only in tights and a dress.

She frowns. “Wait inside, then.”

Zayn rolls her eyes. “We can—”

“Inside,” Niall says, as fiercely as she can manage.

Zayn laughs but follows her. They sit with the girls again, but this time it’s Zayn that Niall falls asleep on, Zayn who smells like jasmine and cinnamon and is everything Niall’s ever wanted. (It’s possible Niall’s a little bit drunk; she’s blaming her sudden outburst of feelings on that.)

When they finally do get home, Zayn tucks her into bed, presses a cool hand against her cheek. “Get some rest,” she breathes out. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? Make you breakfast. You did really well, babe.”

Niall smiles. “Thanks,” she says, and falls asleep nearly instantly.

She starts going to coffeeshops, plays during the day, soft little acoustic sets. She wears sundresses and flowers in her hair, smiles at the patrons even when they don’t smile back.

She’s happier than she’s been in a while; she hadn’t realized how long it’d been (a year, honestly, how’d she managed it?) and it’s nice to slip back into performing, hearing applause, however small.

Liam comes every time that she can, bringing her textbooks with her. She studies instead of watching but every time Niall finishes a song she applauds, big grin on her face.

Niall always turns pink. On the days Liam’s not there she gets just as into the music, sways back and forth, but feels less.

“You did so well,” Liam always whispers, even when Niall misses a line or hits a wrong note.

Niall kicks at her, rolling her eyes, but she’s glad to hear it.

Perrie blends into their lives. It’s mostly centered around Zayn at first, and then Niall; but one day Louise and Harry are dragging Niall out for a day in the city (which means they’re going to take her to roughly a million shops, argue over what chair is best, get nothing and end up sloppily making out on the ride home). “And you, Perrie?” Harry asks, grin on her face. She’s twirling her necklace, shaped like a ship, between her fingers and has her straw between her teeth.

Perrie turns around. Her hair’s lavender today; Niall hates her a little bit for it, how good she looks. If she were to try that, she’d look silly, she thinks. “You’re inviting me?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean, unless you don’t want us to? Yeah. You’re our friend, c’mon.”

She laughs and joins them.

Perrie’s got the cutest laugh in the world, a giggle that trails off when it gets too high-pitched. She laughs at everything, too, even stupid things like the row of ducklings that cross in front of them. Niall’d forgotten, having not seen her in a long while.

“Adorable!” she squeals, sitting down right there on the ground and looking at the ducks. “I want one,” she says, making a little pouty face.

Niall could get used to her being around again, she thinks. She’s happy and fun and doesn’t know about Niall’s feelings, has no reason to dislike her.

“I want chips,” she says when they’ve been at it for an hour and Harry and Lou are off somewhere, doing goodness knows what. She nudges Niall with her hip. “You hungry?”

“Always,” Niall says, following her.

They get chips with too much vinegar and Niall almost feels sick with how much she’s laughing.

Perrie stares at the water when she’s thrown out her container. “You’re okay with me dating Zayn, yeah?”

Niall rolls her eyes. “Why’s everyone making such a big deal out of this?” She grins at Perrie. “You make her happy. She’s my best friend. That’s all that matters.”

Perrie smiles, relieved. “I just… at first, you know, last year? After Jade. I thought you had feelings for her, you know?”

Niall swallows, swallowing the last of her chips and brushing her hands off. “I didn’t,” she says. Her voice feels hollow to her own ears.

“Just wanted to make sure.” She frowns. “You okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset—”

“I’m fine.” Niall grins. Her phone goes off; it’s Harry. “Hey, they’re ready for us.”

“Okay,” Perrie says, but she still sounds concerned.

Niall rolls her eyes again. “Seriously, you need to calm down. I’m happy for the two of you. You’re so disgustingly in love it makes me feel sick, but I’m happy for you.”

Perrie laughs. “Good,” she says.

Niall gives her a hug and links their arms together. They walk back.

“I don’t fucking know what to draw,” Zayn snaps, throwing her bag to the side. “Fuck this. I’m graphic design, the fuck am I doing in sketching?”

Niall’s legs are tucked under her. She stretches out, raising an eyebrow, and holds the blanket up toward Zayn. “Cuddle and talk to me about it?”

Zayn sits next to her, head leaning against her shoulder. She breathes out, scraping at the blue nail varnish Niall had painted there a few days earlier. She’s been thinking about dyeing her hair the same color; something new, bright, pretty. The pink’s old. “I’m supposed to fucking—draw something that represents love.”

“So draw Pezza, then,” Niall says, mild. She runs her fingers through Zayn’s fringe, smiling when Zayn hums. “You love her, yeah?”

“Yeah, but—” Zayn shrugs, hands in front of her. “I want to do something more, you know? I can think of something better than the girl I’m dating.”

“If your professor had wanted you to come up with something wildly original,” Niall murmurs, “he’d have asked you for something other than love.”

Zayn breathes out. “But I can do more.”

Niall hums, rubbing Zayn’s shoulders. “I know.”

Zayn’s quiet for a long while. After a time she turns and presses her lips against Niall’s hand. She takes it as the thank you it’s clearly intended to be.

They sit for another long moment, and Zayn falls asleep, little snuffles that make Niall smile. Niall’s eyes are shut, and her song (Everything is the working title; it’s shit but she can’t handle calling it Details any longer) is running through her mind. She hums it, soft enough that it hopefully won’t wake Zayn.

“What’s that?” Zayn asks after a while, blinking up at her.

Niall shrugs, picking at her fingernails.

“Something you wrote?”

“I—yeah,” Niall says, swallowing.

“For a class?”

Niall waits a beat, and then nods, swallowing past the guilt (she’s terrible at lying, always has been). “Mm.”

Zayn grins. “When it’s done, show me, yeah? It’s good.” She stands up, stretching so that her back pops, and kisses Niall on the top of her head. She goes into the kitchen, singing Cannibal, low and raspy.

Niall curls into herself, eyes shut again, and she tries to pretend she’s not wrapped in Zayn’s scent, that it doesn’t calm her down.

(She feels awful, because of Perrie—but she’d never do anything, never do anything but think and hope. She wouldn’t.

She leans into herself and closes her eyes, and breathes out, listening to Zayn sing.)

“You should dye your hair again,” Louise tells Niall, pointing a finger at her.

Niall frowns, opening her phone to look at herself. Her roots are coming in quite a bit, darker than she remembers. “Yeah,” she says. “Not pink, though.”

“What color, then?” Louise asks, a small smile at her lips.

Niall bites her lip. She’s not thinking of Zayn or Perrie or anything when she says bright purple but—of course it’s a lie.

Louise smiles.

It comes out darker than she’d intended, but just as bright and she grins, staring at herself in the mirror.

“Can I take a piss now?” Zayn asks, rolling her eyes when Niall opens the door. She stops and stares at her. “Holy shit,” she breathes.

Niall grins. “It’ll fade a bit, but I think it’ll look nice even then!”

Zayn twists a lock of her damp hair in her fingers and nods. “It’ll look—great, Ni, it looks great.”

Niall smiles and shakes out her hair a little bit, grabbing her eyeliner and going into her room to put it on. When Zayn’s through she leans against Niall’s doorframe, giving a low whistle. “Jesus, you look good.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks, flashing her a quick grin and blinking at herself.

“Incredibly punk rock,” Zayn says. “Hang on…” She walks over to her, smudging her eyeliner a bit. “There. You’re perfect.”

Niall smiles at herself. It’s a change from the pink, but she likes it, feels less bubblegum and more serious. She bites her lip.

“You’re really hot,” Zayn tells her, something Niall doesn’t want to name at the edge of her voice.

Niall swallows. “Thanks,” she breathes out, looking down. “I—thanks. Where’s Perrie?” she asks, to remind herself you can’t have this she’s not yours.

Zayn blinks and shrugs. “Dunno, she’s been busy the past few days.”

“Why doesn’t she just stay here?” Niall asks, frowning.

“I—she could?”

Niall laughs. “Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don’t need an invitation to have your girlfriend stay the night, honestly.”

She goes to Lou and Liam’s. Liam’s the only one that’s home and her jaw drops when she sees Niall. “You look great!” she half-squeals and Niall lets herself be hugged.

They play FIFA and don’t talk much, Niall eating crisps every time there’s a break. Finally she gives up, tossing the controller to the floor with a flourish and leaning back against the couch.

“That’s it, you’ve well and truly beat me,” she bemoans, throwing her hands up into the air.

Liam just laughs. Niall tries not to be offended.

She keeps performing as the months go on, and becomes a regular at this one coffeeshop down the street from her uni. After one of her “shows” (she calls them that even though she plays for barely an hour, soft things more background music than anything else) a girl comes up to her. She’s got violently purple hair and a lip ring; she looks like Zayn did back before uni.

“Can I have your autograph?” she asks.

Niall’s eyes widen but she nods. “Of course you can,” she says, scribbling on a napkin for the girl. “I’m not famous though, you know.”

The girl shrugs. “You’re pretty and I think—you know, I think you could be famous. Someday.” She folds up the napkin and walks away, turning pink.

Niall grins, shaking her head and humming to herself.

It’s a good day.

Niall’s studying music at uni (education is her fallback, but she wants to perform; she’d love nothing more than for that to be her life, even if it’s just performing for pints at sleazy bars until she’s forty). Her mum just about wants to kill her (Niall Horan, do you want to work at Tesco’s the rest of your life?) but she’d be happier busking and living in a shit flat without heating than doing something she doesn’t love. So long as she’s got enough for the occasional pint, she figures she’s good.

(Zayn laughed at her the first time she’d said that. They’d just smoked weed and were lying on their floor, second night in their flat; there wasn’t any furniture but a shitty couch that fell apart a week after Niall’s eighteenth birthday.

“What?” Niall had asked, petulant, eyes not opening.

“Nothing,” Zayn had said, and then, “you really don’t care about the money?”

Niall shrugs. “Rather be happy, y’know? Everything else is secondary.”

“Fucking hippie,” Zayn had said, and then they were wrestling, laughing and pushing at one another without any heat at all behind it, lazy in the way only weed could make them.

Niall remembers that day like she doesn’t remember most things; remembers the way Zayn’s fingers had dug into her arms, the way her head had hit the floor just this side of too hard.

She remembers a lot.)

She’s sitting at her kitchen table, Justin Bieber playing through her headphones (if I was your boyfriend, he sings at her, and she taps her foot to the beat) and reading another fucking book on the Beatles and their “impact on the music world”.

She understands, but—there’s only so much a girl can take.

Finally, she gives up, leaning her head against the table. She turns her volume up enough that it hurts her ears and Bieber’s screaming at her. It’s nice, in a way; clears her head.

She sits up and Perrie’s suddenly there, sat across from her. She nearly jumps a foot in the air, some sort of noise coming out of her mouth that she’s thankful she can’t hear.

“The fuck did you get there?” Niall breathes, taking her headphones out and wincing at the sudden silence.

Perrie laughs, taking a sip of water. “Few minutes ago. You looked really upset, I didn’t want to interrupt whatever that was.”

Niall closes her eyes. “I just don’t give a fuck about the Beatles anymore, you know?”

Perrie gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth in mock anger. “Niall Horan! How could you say that?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I care! But, like, this isn’t why I’m doing music, you know? I don’t care about the history of music and shit.”

Perrie nods as though she cares about the things Niall says. It’s very sweet, really; the rest of the girls gave up ages ago, preferring to tune out when she gets to talking about music.

It’s for that reason—she doesn’t want to alienate her quite yet, wants to save that for later—that she falls quiet at that, though she has a thousand more things she could say (the Beatles weren’t even the most influential band in the world, though her professor’d just about have her head if she said that).

Perrie’s face does something funny, and then she’s got her fingers laced together, looking at Niall seriously. “I need to ask you something.”

Niall frowns and nods. She can be serious, she just doesn’t really like to be. “Yeah?”

“Do you mind my being here? I mean, I know you say you don’t and that’s lovely, really, but I need to know—because I don’t want to break you and Zayn up but—”

“I don’t mind,” Niall says in a rush, because she’s in love with Zayn but she wouldn’t put her feelings above Perrie and Zayn’s; she loves Zayn but it’s a dull ache at the back of her mind. Missed opportunities, or unrequited love, or something sappy that Louise would smack her for if she could hear. She smiles. “Why, babe?”

“Zayn asked if I wanted to move in,” Perrie says. She stands up, setting the water to boil. Her hands rest on the edge of the stove, drumming quick.

“Oh,” Niall says, and nods. (In all the time she’s known Zayn, she’s never once wanted someone to move in—but people grow and Perrie is so, so good for her.) She smiles. “If I walk in on you two more than once I’m going to rethink this, but yeah, course.”

Perrie turns around. She’s got her hair up at the back of her head, strands falling out. She’s so pretty it makes Niall’s heart hurt. She laughs a little, clapping. “Really?”

“Of course,” Niall says. It feels like a hugging moment; she stands up and wraps her arms around her. She swallows past the bit in her throat that wants to say no, she’s mine. She’s an adult; she can be mature about this.

Nothing in particular changes. Perrie’s been slowly moving in for a while now—she’s got her psych textbooks all over the flat, there’s a hair dye stain on their marble sink from when she’d gone lilac and then pink later that week, they’ve been using her kettle for ages now.

But—there’s something about her living there, properly, that makes Niall’s skin feel tight. She stays out later, wants to be by herself because as much as she can talk to either of them, both of them, they’ve got something she doesn’t.

It’s not the kissing that bothers her, the obnoxious smacking noises they make when they’re trying to irritate her. It’s the way they fit together; Zayn’s hand on her shoulder as she reaches for a mug, Perrie’s never once mixing up Zayn’s tea. When Zayn comes home, upset, she’s always got a girl there who understands her—and Niall has that, in her girls, but she doesn’t have what they’ve got at all.

She feels lonely, most of all when they’re all together. They crowd around their tiny kitchen table, or on their horribly uncomfortable couch, and she feels a distance from Zayn that’s never been there before.

She has to talk to Zayn, she knows it; she’s never been one to shy away from discussions, from the important things, but on this she waits. Just another heartbeat, just another moment and maybe she’ll know what to say, be better equipped for a conversation she’s no idea how to have.

Instead, she goes to Liam’s again.

Louise and Harry are holed up together (“bye, love, going out to the shop!” Lou had shouted with a kiss to Niall’s forehead, Harry holding her hand) and it’s just Liam and Niall.

She still feels like too much, so she quirks a smile at Liam. “Want to watch Toy Story?” she asks.

Liam’s face tells her she can see right through her, but she nods, takes Niall’s hand and kisses every fingertip.

Things are easy, with Liam; half the time Niall wishes she’d fallen in love with her, instead, because Liam is easy and kind and would never hurt anyone.

Maybe that’s the reason Niall kisses her, soft and slow. Liam makes a pleased sort of sound in the back of her throat, pressing Niall down into the couch. Buzz and Woody are going on about something onscreen, but Liam ignores it, laughs a giggle into Niall’s throat.

“You want this?” Liam murmurs, kissing between words, just at Niall’s pulse point.

Niall laughs. She feels young, fifteen and giddy with her first kiss, and she nods. She tangles their fingers together, kisses Liam’s fingertips and sucks her index finger into her mouth. “Yeah,” she says when she lets it go.

Liam smiles, and kisses her, sliding Niall’s shorts off. She rubs at her through the fabric, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Wet,” she murmurs, voice gone low and rough already.

Niall arches her back. “You’re a good kisser,” she whispers, because she’s never been one to be anything less than honest during sex.

Liam huffs a laugh and tugs off her shirt and then Niall’s, licking one of Niall’s nipples before biting it, soft. “You can’t just say that,” she says, shaking her head.

Niall hums, tilting her hips up, and focuses on Liam, lovely Liam with her short curly hair and her kind eyes. She’s honestly, honestly not thinking of Zayn; only Liam, and it’s beautiful.

“Mmm,” Liam murmurs, kissing her way over to Niall’s other breast, and she slides a finger over Niall’s clit, over her panties (soft and cotton; not sexy but comfortable, and Niall tries not to feel embarrassed about it). “Want me to fuck you?” She pushes a finger into her, thumb still rubbing at her clit, and Niall’s back arches. “Or you want me to lick you?” she asks, voice lower than before, like smoke and sexy as fuck.

Niall nods, fingers clutching at the couch—anything, anything. She’s barely been touched and she wants, so much.

Liam presses the finger further into her as she licks at her clit, delicate little kitten licks with the panties pushed to the side. Niall groans and arches, trying to get further, but Liam’s always just that bit pulled back.

“Fuck me,” Niall whispers, almost a beg.

Liam smiles. “All you had to do was ask,” and she pushes another finger in as she sucks hard. After that it’s all hazy, Niall’s fingers scrambling for purchase and settling in Liam’s hair, pulling just a bit too hard (but Liam moans, so Niall doesn’t feel guilty). She comes harder than she has in forever, back arching and gasps turning into sharp moans.

Liam sits up, looking totally debauched. Niall’s just come but she’s still so, so turned on. She flips them so Liam’s on her back, and pulls off her pants with a raised eyebrow. “Gonna fuck you,” she says. Her voice has gone darker than usual but it’s still high, feminine. She slides two fingers inside of Liam, and tries not to feel smug at how Liam’s breathing goes sharp, her nails digging into Niall’s hip.

“Fuck,” Liam whispers, and Niall licks at her, fucks her hard and fast and doesn’t stop until Liam’s coming, hard and pulling on Niall’s hair.

She sighs, content, and Niall snuggles up next to her. They’re too close on the couch; Niall’s going to wake up on the floor because Liam’s a proper starfish. She always manages to take up the entire bed even though she’s not that big; it’s why Niall never shares with her anymore. Niall smiles, though, and breathes out into Liam’s hair.

“Is this gonna be a thing?”Liam asks, running her fingers through Niall’s fringe. Her voice is soft, delicate.

Niall shrugs, threading their fingers together and pressing her thumb into the back of Liam’s palm. “Dunno. If you want it to be.”

Liam smiles. “Casual, though, yeah?”

Niall hums, already half asleep. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

And she drifts off.

For possibly the first time in history, Niall wakes up before Liam. She’s pushed against the back of the couch and her back is killing her, but she just shakes her head. She hurts but pleasantly, and she hums as she gets up. She pulls on her t-shirt and knickers, and goes into the kitchen, still humming. It’s not her song, not anything really; it’s fast and happy and she dances around the kitchen.

Louise’s old leather jacket is tossed on the couch; if Niall strains her ears, she can hear Harry’s soft snoring. Niall looks out the window; the light is soft, the sun barely out. She smiles.

She’s cooking breakfast, poached eggs and toast, when Liam walks in, scratching her head. She kisses Niall on the forehead, and then pauses, frowning just a little bit. “We’re still good?” she asks.

Niall grins at her, flipping the eggs onto a plate. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Liam nods. “Casual, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says. She kicks Liam’s leg under the table. Liam scrunches her nose. Niall, blissfully, doesn’t feel anything like being in love, nothing like Zayn.

It continues, and so do classes. Niall keeps working on her song, tweaking with it, starts writing others and throws them out after a few days. She sleeps with Liam, most nights; it’s comfortable and nice, the two of them, whichever flat they’re at. They don’t always shag, and when they do it’s fun, light and happy—she kisses the tip of Liam’s nose and bites at her neck. She’s never had sex like this before, this giggly; it makes her happy, feels like she’s doing what she’s supposed to do. She feels young, nineteen and light with it.

“Are you two shagging?” Zayn asks, one day when it’s just the two of them. They’re lying on Zayn’s floor, watching the overhead fan. “You and Liam, I mean.”

Niall nods, doesn’t trust herself to say anything.

Zayn’s silent for a long moment. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

It feels like a punch in Niall’s heart, but she nods. “Yeah, ‘course. Why not? She’s fit, so’m I. We don’t fancy each other or anything. Just mates.”

Zayn turns on her side, reaching out to play with the edge of Niall’s shirt. “Are you sure about that?”

Niall laughs, and it snorts and it’s terribly unattractive but she doesn’t care. “Yeah, I am.”

Zayn twists her mouth, and pulls her close so they’re pressed forehead to forehead. “I just want you to be happy,” she says, small and honest.

Niall shakes her head, sucks in a sharp breath because no, this isn’t fair, what Zayn’s doing to her. “I am.” She kisses her cheek, smiling at her. It’s a bit cross-eyed, but she’s pretty sure Zayn gets the message. “I don’t need to—fuck, have someone to go furniture shopping with. I’m happy enough with Liam.”

And she is happy, is the thing. She doesn’t have Zayn but she doesn’t mind it so much—she’s got Liam, beautiful Liam who doesn’t make her heart race but doesn’t make it fall either, who loves her and shags her and it’s all wonderful. (She’s always been better at friends with benefits, anyway.)

“Come on. You know I’m shit at real relationships, anyway,” she says when Zayn doesn’t answer.

Zayn shrugs, small, almost timid. “What if Liam starts to—fancy you, or summat?” She twists their hands together, kissing Niall’s knuckles. “Don’t want her to get hurt, either,” she mumbles.

Niall moves to lie on her back again, laughing and spreading her legs and arms out. “She won’t,” she says. “Not everyone’s like you, Zee. We don’t all want the—fuck, the picket fence, you know? Girls just wanna have fun,” she sings, winking at Zayn. “You’re happy, so am I. It’s just different.” Except that she wants more, she just—she can’t have that, not right now.

“Shove off, I’m just trying to help,” Zayn says. She sits up, pulling her legs in and leaning her chin on her knee. She’s in a grey dress and fishnet tights and she’s so, so beautiful it makes Niall’s heart hurt. “I just—you’d tell me, if there was something, yeah?”

“Of course,” Niall says, and it feels like a lie (is a lie) but she can’t tell her the truth. She grins at her. “We should go out tonight, yeah?” She grabs Zayn’s hands, stands up and twirls her around the room, giggling. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

“I’ve got class tomorrow!” Zayn insists, but she nods, rolling her eyes. “And you’re an idiot, but fine. Fine.”

Niall smacks a kiss to her cheek and spins away, pulling her shirt the rest of the way on and grabbing her phone. want 2 come out 2nite? she sends to Haz and Liam and Louise, and purses her lips. “Y’can invite Perrie, if you want,” she says. It comes out softer, and she hates herself for it, for the way she wants to say no, don’t, please.

Zayn’s back straightens and she shrugs. She picks at the edge of her skirt, sitting back down on Niall’s bed. “Don’t think she’d be interested,” she says.

Niall doesn’t press it. She pushes play on her radio, Justin Bieber crooning at her through the too-loud speakers, and dances like an idiot until Zayn cracks a grin, rolling her eyes at her. She holds out her hands and pulls Zayn up and into a hug. “If you want to talk,” she starts.

Zayn pushes her away, rolling her eyes. “’m fine,” she says. “Couples fight. It’s fine.”

Niall shrugs, and sits down on her bed, looking at Zayn without blinking for a long moment. “If you want to talk, though,” she starts.

“I know.” Zayn looks at her, fingers twitching. “I fucking—I know.”

Niall holds her hands up, placating. “Now,” she says, grinning. “An important question.”

“Oh, jesus,” Zayn says, but she’s smiling back.

“Where’re we going?”

She ends up spectacularly drunk and dances with everyone in the bloody club. It’s hot and sweaty and she’s missed it, though it’s honestly not been that long a time.

“This is great!” Niall shouts at Harry, who’s watching her with a grin. She pulls her up and dances with her over to the middle of the floor. She’s claustrophobic but this, this is different; this is pulsing bodies and it’s easy to navigate.

Harry giggles, hard enough that tears come out of her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, reaching out to pat at Niall’s hair. “You’re okay, then?”

“’Course I am!” Niall spins around, bumping into someone. She apologizes, shrugging back to Harry. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Zayn,” Harry says as though it’s obvious.

And that—well, she can’t ignore it now, can’t stop thinking about Zayn and Perrie and everything she doesn’t have. Niall stops dancing, her good mood nearly gone. “No,” she says, eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

“You need to talk about it,” and Harry’s pressed in close, enough that they could kiss, if they wanted.

Niall pulls back, head feeling heavy and fuzzy. She shakes her head again, everything too fuzzy and loud all of a sudden.  “Where’s Liam?”

“Niall,” Harry starts, but she just shrugs away, going back to their booth.

Liam wraps an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “You okay, babe?”

“No,” Niall murmurs, “I just,” and, “take me home?”

Liam’s voice is steadier than hers; she’s not been drinking as much, content to just sit and watch. Niall loves her an incredible amount.

They walk out together, Niall leaning heavily on Liam with her eyes half-shut.

Zayn stops them when they get outside. She’s in a tight black dress and heels, smoking a fag. Niall loves her so much. “What’re you doing?” Her voice is rough and fuzzy.

“Going home,” Liam says, arm tightening around Niall’s shoulders.

“Why?” Zayn asks. She blows out a breath of smoke. “The night’s young.”

“I want to go back,” Niall says, opening her eyes all the way and standing up. She doesn’t fall over (thank god for small miracles) and she crosses her arms, looking at Zayn. “Call Perrie if you want someone to go out with you. You don’t even want to talk to us anymore unless she’s pissed at you.”

“That’s not true,” Zayn whispers, and crosses her arms. She towers over Niall, but Niall stands her ground. “You know it isn’t.”

“You barely come back to the flat, and when you do she’s there! I just—you’re my best friend but I don’t like who you are with her.” Maybe it’s a lie. She doesn’t fucking know anymore, only knows that her heart hurts when she sees Zayn and Perrie together, and—“Jesus, Zayn, you didn’t even ask if she could move in.”

Zayn snorts. “Didn’t know I had to ask for permission.”

“Perrie did!” and now she’s shouting, stumbling. Liam wraps an arm around her waist, holds her up. “Perrie fucking asked me because you didn’t. Perrie knew I might not want to see the two of you all the time, fucking—”

“Fuck you,” Zayn says, small and dark. “Fuck you, I’m happy, you—” She tosses her cigarette to the side and stamps it out. “You two go home, fuck the bitch out of her.” She directs the last part at Liam and doesn’t spare Niall another glance.

“Okay,” Liam says, pulling her into a cab. She smooths Niall’s hair down. “We’re going to go back to my place, yeah? And we’re going to sit and you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”

“No,” Niall murmurs, leaning her head on Liam’s shoulder. “Want you, Li.” She goes in for a kiss.

Liam shakes her head, pushes her away firmly. “Not tonight,” she says, and “I’m worried about you, I just want you to be okay.”

“I know.” Niall feels tears in her eyes, and—fuck, she hasn’t cried while drunk in a long time. She wipes at them. It doesn’t help. “Later, okay? Right now I just—I can’t.”

“Okay,” and Liam presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay, Niall.”

“Sleep with me,” Liam murmurs, with a kiss to Niall’s cheek. She’s tipsy but not drunk, enough that she can focus on Niall, get her into bed and pull her skirt off quickly.

“Don’t wanna fuck tonight,” Niall murmurs, “just want to cuddle.”

Liam freezes and then nods, pulling Niall close. “Wasn’t going to,” she whispers back.

It’s quiet.

Niall breathes out, and then—“I’m in love with Zayn,” she says, too loud in the still room.

Liam nods against her shoulder, pulling her impossibly close. “You are?”

Niall breathes, and doesn’t say anything.

It’s quiet for a long moment. Liam’s hand keeps rubbing at her stomach, soft and soothing. “What are you going to do?” she asks.

Niall shrugs, feeling small and young. “Nothing, I s’pose. She’s with Perrie and she’s happy and I wouldn’t fuck that up—I wouldn’t, I promise.”

“I know, babe.” Liam kisses her neck, just behind her ear.

“I just—” and this is what she hasn’t said but has been feeling, what she feels is going to burst out of her if she lets it—“I want her to be happy, like that, and I just—I wish it were me.” She breathes out too hard and pulls Liam’s wrist up to her lips, presses a shaking kiss there. (Her entire body is shaking.)

“You know that isn’t wrong, yeah?” Liam asks, still so solid and strong. “It’s not wrong to want someone.”

There are a thousand things Niall could say, should say, but she can’t; she feels overwhelmed, and drunk, and exhausted. “Not—I can’t—not now,” she breathes.

It’s complete nonsense, her words, but Liam gets it, always gets Niall when anyone else wouldn’t. “Okay,” she says, and that’s that.

Niall’s always loved Liam, so much, but now she feels the weight of it, pulls her tight and can’t breathe with it.

“Good night,” she whispers, and she means thanks.

Liam hums in response; but she gets it, Niall knows. She always, always gets it.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says.

Niall blinks, tossing her jacket (Liam’s jacket, really, but she didn’t mind when Niall nicked it months back and she hasn’t given it back yet) to the side, on the couch. “Sorry?”

Zayn shrugs, winces. “I don’t remember all of what I said but I know it was mean and—” She holds out a mug of tea. “Sorry.”

Niall grins and takes it, giving Zayn a hug with her other arm. “It’s fine,” she says, because it is. “I, er, I said some things too.”

“We all say things when we’re drunk,” Zayn nods, and winks. Her face falls after a second and she sets her mug to the side. “So you went home with Liam?”

Niall shrugs, chewing at her thumbnail. “Yeah.”

“I’m still worried about you.”

Niall rolls her eyes, shrugging her off. “Jesus, Zayn, ‘m not a kid.”

“I know.” Zayn’s eyes are big and it looks, now Niall’s looking, almost as though she’s been crying. “I’m still worried, yeah?”

“I’m not in love with her,” Niall breathes.

“You should be in love, though.” Zayn drains the last of her mug and goes to rinse it out. She has to go on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf, and it’s so endearing Niall has to look down, swallow past a silly grin. “Like—it’s the best, yeah? And you shouldn’t settle for less.”

“Don’t really have ladies knocking down my door, y’know?” Niall shrugs. “Not with—relationships and shit. And I’m happy enough.”

“But not happy.” She looks at Niall, fingers pressed against the countertop.

Niall rolls her eyes. “Why are you so fixed on this?”

“Perrie and I broke up.” It’s a non-sequitor, but—her face crumples and she nearly collapses against the counter, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, shit,” Niall murmurs. She gets up, pulling Zayn close and murmuring in her ear. “Let’s have a cuddle, yeah?”

Zayn nods against her shoulder and Niall gets them to the couch without falling over, draping Zayn over her. She kisses her forehead, her cheeks, presses her fingers into her sides until Zayn’s laughing, pushing her away.

“Enough!” she says, and Niall relents, settling instead for leaning back, enough that Zayn’s head is in her lap, her knees kicked up onto the back of the couch.

“You wanna talk about it?” Niall asks, running her fingers through Zayn’s hair.

“I—no.” Zayn swallows. “Not now.”

“Okay,” Niall murmurs, just like Liam did before. It feels false, now; she’s not impartial like Liam is, can’t help the hot stab of yes because Zayn’s not with Perrie, she might want—but no, no. “Want to watch a film?”

“Mmm,” Zayn sighs, shaking her head.

Niall smiles. “Want to get drunk?”

“No,” Zayn breathes, and presses her face against Niall’s leg, bites softly. “That’s what last night was for.”

Niall’s heart aches for her; she pushes down her own feelings of victory or whatever the fuck and pulls Zayn up and into a real hug. “I’m sorry,” she says, because she should have known and didn’t.

Zayn smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She presses a kiss to Niall’s cheek. She still smells like vodka and sleep. “Not your fault,” she breathes. It sounds like smoke and heartbreak. Niall kind of hates herself, a little bit, for the way her heart still races.

“I know, babe,” Niall murmurs. She leans back against the couch, humming.

“Pretty,” Zayn murmurs, and then falls quiet. She draws patterns on Niall’s knee. Niall hears her swallow. “I just don’t know what I did wrong.”

Niall pats at her again. The moment feels tender, open; she doesn’t know how to not fuck it up, how to be serious, here. “I know, babe.”

“I just,” and Zayn sits up. Her hands shake in her lap. “One day we were so great? And then—she said she wasn’t in love with me anymore, and she said—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. Tears slip down her cheeks. She wipes at them, sniffling.

“Said what?” Niall asks, voice soft.

Zayn shakes her head.

“Okay, babe,” Niall whispers, dragging her back in for a hug. She kisses the side of Zayn’s face, murmuring in her ear. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m in love with her,” Zayn whispers.

It breaks Niall’s heart, but she nods, pulling her impossibly tighter. “I know,” she murmurs. She kisses her again, just above her ear. “I know, babe. It’s the worst.”

“Why aren’t I good enough?” Zayn breathes out, soft and sharp.

Niall presses her lips together and holds her tight.

“I want to go out,” Zayn says at lunch the next day.

Niall looks up, frowning. She’s still caught up in her art history textbook. “Hmm?” she asks, shutting it and pushing it to the side.

Zayn shrugs, nails drumming against the (fake) marble table. “Uh,” she says, and smiles, shaking her head at the window. She closes her eyes. “I just. I want to go out, you know? Go to a club.”

“Get drunk?”

Zayn shakes her head. “Want to stay sober, just—I need to get out, you know?”

Niall smiles, nodding down into her plate of eggs. “I know,” she says. (She recognizes that, the need to get out and do something instead of wallowing in unrequited love. She gets it.) “Tonight?”

“Nah, I’ve got class.” Zayn waves her hands, and brings her legs up to her chest. She leans her chin against her knee. “This weekend? Harry’s got that gig.”

Niall nods. “Sounds good.” She keeps eating, tapping her foot.

“Hey.” It’s soft.

Niall looks at her. “Hmm?”

“What about you?”

She laughs around a mouthful of egg. “What about me?”

“How’s your writing going? You should do gigs again. Could make some money.”

Niall shrugs, finishing her plate and setting it to the side. “Haven’t had much inspiration, lately.” The lie is weird, coming out of her mouth.

“Bullshit,” Zayn says, easy. She sits up closer to the table. “I’ve heard you, you know. When you get out of class sometimes. Come on, play it for me.”

Niall shakes her head. “Nah. Haven’t got words, anyway.” That’s a lie, too, but Zayn doesn’t need to know that, can’t know that until—until.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Play for me. Please?”

“Fine, fine.” Niall waves a hand, and runs to grab her guitar. She tunes it as she sits down, nodding and kicking her feet up on the table. “Now, I’m not going to hear any of your mocking. This is a work in progress, y’know?”

“I know.” She looks attentive, eyes wide and focused on Niall’s hands.

She takes a deep breath and starts strumming. She closes her eyes and gets lost in it, the easy melody. She starts mouthing the words almost without meaning to, bobbing her head and tapping her foot against the table.

“Bullshit, you don’t have words,” Zayn says, but she’s smiling. “I like it.”

Niall smiles. It’s nice to hear praise again; she hasn’t had that in a while. “Thanks.”

Zayn stands up and squeezes her hand. It feels like more of a moment than it is.

Niall takes in a shuddery breath, shaking her head. Fuck.

“Sing me the words sometime?” Zayn asks as she leaves.

“Yeah,” Niall calls after her, and ignores the way her heart pounds. I want to, she thinks.

  
  
  
  


On a Sunday, Liam comes to Niall with shaking hands.

“I met someone,” she whispers, and oh, Niall thinks.

She smiles, wide, and it doesn’t hurt at all. “Who is it?”

“This girl, Danielle?” Liam swallows, shrugs, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “She’s in my film class. She’s really nice and funny and I like her a lot.” She bites her lip.

Niall laughs, threading their fingers together and kissing the back of her hand. “Guess I’ll have to let you go then.”

Liam knocks their shoulders together, and doesn’t say anything for a moment. When she does, it’s soft. “Guess so.”

  
  


“I’m sorry,” Zayn says from her place on the couch. She’s got a half-empty box of tissues next to her, and most of the used ones look to be in the trash can. (It’s an improvement; Niall will take what she can get.)

Niall tosses her jacket to the side and puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head. “For what? Did you finish all the milk again?” She walks to the fridge, checking.

“I heard about Liam,” she says, like it’s obvious.

Niall snorts, not standing up. She grabs the bread and peanut butter and shuts the door with her hip. “That she’s got a girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Zayn stands up. She’s only in a big t-shirt and knickers. Jesus Christ, Niall thinks, helpless. “I’m sorry, babe.” She walks up to Niall, wraps her arms around her and rests her chin on her shoulder.

“I love the cuddle, but what’re you sorry for?”

Zayn frowns. Niall feels it against her cheek. “I know you had, like, feelings for her.”

Niall laughs, shaking her head and shifting away just enough to start making her sandwich. “Nah, I didn’t. I don’t. I’m happy for her.” It’s not a lie, but she wonders if it sounds like one.

Zayn breathes out, slow, and hums a bit. “You don’t?” She sounds almost hopeful—but no, no, Niall’s reading too much into this.

She’s too loud when she answers, gestures too big. “‘course not, I told you that.” She spins around and Zayn’s right there, eyes wide and hand curving at the bottom of Niall’s hip.

Perrie, Niall thinks, desperate with it—because Zayn’s still hurt, still in love, and Niall won’t do that. She smiles, pulling Zayn in for a hug, holding her tight.

Zayn crumples into it, clutching her hard. Her fingers dig into Niall’s spine. “Love you,” she murmurs.

“I love you, too, babe,” Niall says, trying to keep her voice light. It’s anything but. She pats Zayn’s cheek, kisses her on the forehead and tries not to breathe.

Zayn leaves in a hurry. Niall eats her sandwich and tries not to let the hurt course through her.

  
  


“I think I’ve figured out my project,” Zayn says.

Niall looks up from her math homework (honestly, she’s going to be a fucking music teacher, what’s the point of her learning algebra?) and crosses her arms, leaning over the table. Zayn’s eyes flick to her chest and back up. Niall pretends not to notice. She swallows, dry. “Yeah? How’s that?” She hopes her voice sounds more level to Zayn than it does to her. “What’re you doing it on?”

“You,” Zayn says, sitting down next to her on the floor.

Niall’s breath stops. Fuck. “I, uh, I thought it was on love, though?”

Zayn nods, threads their fingers together and holds on tight. “I love you, you know? And everyone’s gonna do romance. I want to do something better.” She kisses Niall’s fingertips. Niall’s heart may never start again. “You’re my best friend—no one’s ever meant—” She cuts herself off, looks down. “Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

No, Niall thinks, but she’s never been able to deny Zayn anything. “Yeah, of course it is,” she says instead. She smiles, and it’s not entirely false.

Zayn pulls her in so they’re lying side-by-side, fingers tangled together and breaths mingling. “Love you,” she says, soft and intimate. It sounds like a promise, like more than the words.

“I love you, too, you sap,” Niall says, and means it so, so much. She presses their foreheads together, closes her eyes.

Zayn sucks in a breath and shifts impossibly closer, traces her fingers down Niall’s side, scrunching up the thin material of her tanktop.

When Niall opens her eyes, all she can see is Zayn, larger-than-life and out of focus. She shuts them, swallows tight and shivers, leans just a bit closer.

Zayn shakes her head, quick, and rolls away. She sits up, running her hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she breathes.

Niall doesn’t think she was supposed to hear that. She stays where she is, tries to make her breathing calm

“I, uh,” Zayn says, stands up. “I’ll let you know when I need you, okay?”

I need you, Niall thinks and doesn’t say; I need you so much, please. Instead, she just nods.

Zayn doesn’t meet her eye. She leaves.

So this is heartbreak, she thinks; this aching crush in her chest, this tightening in her throat, that’s what all the songs are on about.

It feels like Jade did, like trembling lips and a last, desperate hug, and it doesn’t; because Jade was hers, at least for a while, and Zayn’s never been.

She presses her face into the carpet, breathes in and out in shaky shudders until she feels less like she’s going to pass out and then some. She breathes until her lungs don’t want to collapse.

She loves Zayn so much it hurts but she waits until she can tamp it down, catch it under her skin instead of letting it bleed through for everyone to see.

She stands up.

  
  


Louise helps her dye her hair bright blue, quiet and still for the first time since Niall’s known her. She puts on Nickleback (Niall would make fun of her, but Lou’s the only one who doesn’t tease her about Bieber, so) and bops her head back and forth, singing along softly.

“I see Harry hasn’t replaced all your music with Arctic Monkeys and Ed Sheeran,” Niall says, obediently tipping her head back when Lou tugs on her hair. “Count yourself lucky. She made herself four playlists on my ipod.”

Lou laughs under her breath, shaking her head. “She tried that, so I put all of her ship things in the bathroom.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t get her obsession, honestly.”

Niall laughs, eyes shut tight.

There’s a long pause, only the music playing (you look so much better with something in your mouth, and Niall inwardly rolls her eyes).

“You’re gonna look great,” Louise says. Niall opens her eyes; Lou’s studying her hair, tilting her head back and forth. She squirts the last of the dye into her hands, rubbing it into Niall’s fringe.

“Thanks,” Niall says. She smiles, stands up to study herself in the mirror, lips pursed. Her hair’s a mess at the moment, but she can see what it’s going to be. Just punk rock enough to make her heart jump.

Louise pushes her to the side with her hip, washes the dye from the her wrists. “Liam’s gone on a few dates with a girl, did you hear?” she asks, not making eye contact.

Niall nods. She sits on the edge of the bathtub, pulling out her phone. “I heard,” she says, flipping through Twitter. “How’re they doing, then? Li just told me she liked her, not much beyond that.”

“I guess they went well enough that Liam wants us to meet her.” Lou leans against the sink counter, tilts her head. “So you’re okay, then?”

Niall laughs. “Yeah? Bit dizzy from the dye, but I’m fine.” She takes a break, answers the question she knows Louise is really asking. “And I’m fine, about Liam.”

“You sure?” Lou asks. “You seemed awfully into her.”

“You lot,” Niall says, “always thinking I’m into everyone. You thought I was into Haz for like a year!”

“In my defense, you’re very cuddly,” Lou says, but her voice has a laugh at the edge of it.

She can’t help a snort. “You’re calling me cuddly? Really?” The first time she’d met Louise, she’d jumped on Niall’s back and bitten her neck within ten minutes of meeting one another. Granted, she’d been two shots and god knew how much weed in, but still.

Lou laughs. “Fine.” She bites her lip, tilts her head. “Might do you some good, though. To actually date, instead of just shagging everyone.”

That hits like a punch to the heart. “I don’t shag everyone,” Niall says, crossing her arms and looking at the ground.

Lou sits next to her, a careful distance away, and reaches out to poke her side. Niall pointedly doesn’t giggle. “Well, for what it’s worth I think you’re being an idiot.”

Niall doesn’t look up.

“And while I’m saying things I think, you need to tell Zayn how you feel.” When Niall finally looks over at her, there’s real concern in Louise’s eyes. “You’re scared, yeah, but you’re just fucking—unhappy, right now, and I think you guys could—”

“And what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Niall interrupts, picking at the edge of her skirt. (She doesn’t remember Zayn’s hand on her hip, the way her breath had felt against the side of her neck, the almost panicked look in Zayn’s eyes when they were close enough to kiss.) She shrugs.

“Then you move on,” Lou says, shrugging like it’s no big deal (and of course it would seem like that to her; she found the love of her life at eighteen). She scoots over until her back’s against the wall and she can balance herself with her knees pulled to her chest. “And if she does, then you’re both happy. I don’t see a problem.”

Niall shrugs, doesn’t say anything.

After a minute, Lou says “I’m glad you’re not sleeping with Liam anymore, at any rate.” She opens her mouth a few times before getting the next part out. “I was getting kind of sick of fielding Zayn’s questions about whether you were secretly in love.”  She doesn’t say anything else, but Niall can read between the lines. Fuck, she can almost hear Zayn talking about her.

At the back of her mind, she lets herself hope that maybe, maybe the rest of them are right, that Zayn might want Niall back. And just like that, everything slams back into Niall’s chest. She swallows and presses the heels of her hands against her eyelids, mindful of the hair dye on her forehead.

“I know,” Lou says, because she does, has always been able to read Niall so well. She nudges her with her toe. “I know, babe.”

Niall breathes out, sharp, and stares at the wall. “Tell me something,” she says. “Am I being dumb about this?” She waves her hands around in a way she hopes encompasses Zayn. She feels like she’s at the edge of a cliff, needs someone to yank her back before she lets herself fall.  

Lou shakes her head. “It’s only dumb if you don’t do anything.”

Niall nods. “I’ll talk to her, then,” she says, and it doesn’t feel like a lie.

 

Louise leaves when Harry calls her, panic on her face, and then Niall goes to her room. She’s working on an essay (she’s got to explain the philosophies of John Locke and contrast them with someone else, bopping her head to the Nickelback that’s somehow found its way onto her iPod (Louise Charlotte Tomlinson) she thinks, but she’s the one jamming to it, so.

Zayn pops her head in, a soft smile on her face. She’s just out of the shower, hair up in a knot and water leaving little rivulets down the side of her face. Her glasses are on top of her head. She smiles. “Mind if I sit with you a bit?”

“Not at all,” Niall says, tossing her laptop to the side and holding out her arms. “S’long as I get a cuddle,” and maybe she’s being selfish but Lou’s words are still ringing in her ears, what if she does?, and she just—she needs Zayn, needs to be close to her.

Zayn does, crawls up Niall’s bed and presses her face against Niall’s neck, hair dripping.

“You’re cold,” Niall murmurs, but makes no move at all.

Zayn huffs out a laugh and adjusts so she’s leaning against Niall’s shoulder, breathing out a sigh. “Love your hair,” she says, eyes shut.

“Can’t see it, can you,” Niall laughs, shifting so they’re cuddled closer together. She grabs Zayn’s hand and links their fingers, presses her lips to the back of her palm.

Zayn rolls her eyes and sits up, studying her. She threads her fingers through Niall’s hair, smiling a little bit. “Yeah,” she says, “just like I said. It’s beautiful.”

They just look at one another for a moment, and Niall doesn’t move. She feels like this is it, this could be their big moment; they could kiss, and right now, with Zayn looking at her in the half-light of her bedroom, the sun setting outside, maybe Zayn loves her, too.

Then Zayn blinks, and looks away, and the moment is lost.

Niall tries not to feel disappointed. There are a thousand reasons not to love Zayn, not to want her with every inch of her, but then Zayn wraps her arms around Niall’s middle and sighs, and Niall remembers all the reasons she does.

“Thanks,” she says, when the silence has gone on too long. It hangs in the air, empty, for a moment. She chances a look up at Zayn.

Zayn’s staring at her lips and she looks devastated. Her eyes snap to Niall’s, though, and when she sees Niall looking she shakes her head, stands up and goes to Niall’s mirror. “Where’d you get the dye?” she asks, tilting her head at her reflection. She lets her hair down, pursing her lips and looking at her face from all angles.

She’s devastatingly beautiful like this, even in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt that Niall thinks might have been hers, once. Niall swallows and pulls the covers up to just under her chin, tries to hide herself as much as possible.

“Think I want to do mine,” Zayn says, looking at her through the mirror. She smiles, turns around. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up and not bothering to smooth down her hair. It’s the uncomfortable length that it sticks out of the side of her head without actually looking elegantly disheveled, but Zayn’s seen her in worse. “And I just got it at Tesco’s, I’m afraid,” she says on a fake sigh, shrugging at Zayn. “Probably fade in a few days, but it’s cute for the mo’, yeah?” She runs her fingers through it.

Zayn’s looking at her, and Niall feels like she’s naked, on display. “Yeah,” Zayn says. Her voice is small, like she’s hiding something; like her yeah is meant to be a thousand more things Niall can’t hope to parse.

The moment feels tender, and Niall can’t take it. Her heart’s in her throat and she’s going to do something if she doesn’t move out of the room, sunset outside burning soft orange and pink. It’s too much, too hard. “I’m going to do my nails,” she says without looking up, because she needs to do something with her hands. And then, because she can’t help it—”Want me to do yours?”

Zayn’s face softens, body relaxes, and she nods. She grabs NIall’s hand, kissing her knuckles before pulling her up. “Yeah, babe,” she murmurs, voice smoke-rough and curling around the words.

Niall looks away too quickly, pulls her hand out of her grip, and takes a steadying breath. In front of her, Zayn’s fingers twitch at her sides and her mouth is open, staring at Niall again.

They go to the coffee table, already stained with Zayn’s oil paints and Niall’s furious pencil

“What color?” she asks, looking not at Zayn’s face but at the wall just behind her. She doesn’t let herself focus on the way Zayn’s face falls for just a second, the way she shifts in place before responding. (Her brain still thinks maybe, thinks she could, and Niall has to breathe past it before she does something stupid like kiss her.)

“Pink,” Zayn murmurs, and then, “you mind if I smoke?”

Niall shakes her head and gets to it, not making eye contact. Zayn’s got her glasses on properly now, and she rummages through her pockets to get a pack out, lights it quickly. She kicks her feet up onto the table and Niall would tell anyone else to move, but it’s Zayn.

She works slowly, methodically, humming under her breath. Zayn blows out a breath of smoke at the ceiling, holding the cigarette in the hand Niall’s not working on, and Niall wrinkles her nose but doesn’t say anything.

“How’s your project coming along?” Niall asks when the silence has stretched on so long she thinks it’ll never break.

Zayn laughs, blows out more smoke, stares out the window. “It’s coming,” she says, endlessly overdramatic.

Niall snorts and says, “That’s what she said,” without thinking about it.

Zayn laughs, bright and sharp. “You’re an idiot,” but Niall hears the love behind it.

“Switch,” Niall says instead of something else, and then “Careful,” when Zayn transfers the cigarette over, too.

Zayn smirks, takes a drag and blows it in Niall’s face.

Niall doesn’t say anything, shakes her head and coughs and leans down again. She’s nearly done, trying her hardest to get the pinky properly, when Zayn says something else.

“It’s not right,” she starts, carefully stubbing out her cigarette and biting her lip.

Niall raises an eyebrow, doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“I mean—you’re lovely and you’re beautiful but the sketches—they’re not.” She shakes her head. “S’why I like painting more—I can get more out of, like, watercolors than I can a pencil. You can’t tell emotion through shading as much as you can with color.”

Niall shrugs. “Some of my favorite artists just did sketches,” she says, looking at her. Zayn’s looking away, glasses slipping down the edge of her nose. She holds in a breath. “I’m sure it’s beautiful, though. Can I see it?”

“Promise not to laugh,” Zayn says.

Niall grins. “Promise.”

“And…” Zayn pauses. “Sing me your song? Properly, this time.”

No, Niall thinks, sharp and panicky (even though she knows that would be the best way to do it, quick and honest, tell her through song instead of real words—she can’t, she can’t). Niall goes cold, sits back and puts her hands in her lap. “All done,” she says instead of anything else.

Zayn frowns, holding her hands carefully in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Niall says, but it’s weak even to her own ears. “It’s just not ready, yet.”

Zayn smiles, a soft, almost delicate thing. “Neither’s mine.”

Niall nods, licks over her lips and stands up. “Later, then.” There’s an air of finality to her voice that she doesn’t feel. She wants to think about anything but Zayn drawing a picture of her with love at the back of her mind, needs to get out before she does something stupid like kiss her. “I’m going out with Liam tonight,” she says; she’s been meaning to have a night where she catches up with Liam anyway.

Zayn doesn’t say anything; the silence hangs heavy in the air.

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning.” She forces a smile. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone,” she says, and it sounds hollow, feels hollow to say.

Zayn’s frowning but doesn’t protest, just nods. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she offers with a forced smile that Niall can’t parse.

The want to join? is at the back of her tongue but Niall stops herself this time, wouldn’t trust herself around Zayn when drunk, doesn’t want to say anything like what she’s thinking. She just leaves with a forced smile, and tries to blink past the tears in her eyes.

 

She does head to Liam’s, because Liam is always there for a cuddle even if not for a party. She knocks. Louise answers the door. She’s in a ratty jumper that Niall’s pretty sure was originally Harry’s, and there are tear tracks on her cheeks. Her eyeliner’s smudged under her eyes.

Niall doesn’t know what to say, has never seen Lou look like this; she holds out her arms without a word. They’re broken up, she thinks, and her heart drops.

Lou presses her face against Niall’s shoulder. Her entire body is shaking with sobs. “Harry broke up with me,” she says.

Niall doesn’t say anything, hugs her tighter. Lou doesn’t like to be asked, likes to talk about her problems in her own time. “Let’s go inside,” she murmurs.

Louise gives a sniffle in return. They’re roughly the same height, but Lou falls against her, holds on like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Niall gently walks them inside, sits down on the couch and lets Louise collapse next to her, gripping her thigh hard enough to bruise.

“She said—” Lou hiccups on a sob, shakes her head and wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the jumper. “Said she didn’t think I l-loved her anymore.” She swallows. “I told her, but—and she just—she’s gone.” She starts crying in earnest, small shoulders shaking with it.

Niall doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say. She shifts and lies down next to her on the couch, strokes her hair and presses kisses to her forehead. “She loves you,” she says. “You’ll be back together soon. She’s probably just stressed, yeah? And nervous.”

“She doesn’t love me,” Louise gets out, barely discernable through all the tears, “she wouldn’t have—have dumped me if she gave a shit.”

“Okay,” Niall says. She waits a beat, and then, “Do you want to get drunk, then?” because that’s always been how Louise dealt with breakups before—with Eleanor, and Hannah, and Stan.

Lou nods, sits up and wipes at her eyes. She blinks toward the ceiling. “I,” she starts, and breathes in a shuddery breath. “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

Niall goes into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of vodka and the litre of Diet Coke sitting in the fridge. Before she goes back out, she texts Zayn:

haz and lou broke up, i’m gonna help her out. be back sometime. sorry babe x

She turns her phone off and goes back out to Louise.

 

“Fuck her!” Lou shouts, when she’s three shots in and her hands are shaking. “She’s—and fuck Liam, too, Liam who just fuckin’ left.” She takes another swig and nearly drops it.

Niall saves it, but barely. “I know, babe,” she says.

“No!” Louise stands up. “I’m gonna—get all her shit and just—throw it on the lawn. Burn it.” She hiccups out a laugh, shaking her head. “She’s—she can go fuck herself, she can just get new things like she’s gonna get a new girlfriend.” She slurs the words together, falls toward Niall.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Niall says, looking outside. “It’s too dark to burn things, honey. In the morning you can burn everything you want.”

Niall half carries her to her bed and drops her down, smiling at her. “You want water?” she asks.

“Nah,” Louise sniffles, pressing a kiss to Niall’s throat. “Love you,” she says instead, and within a moment she’s asleep.

Niall pats the side of Louise’s head, sets out water and painkillers. Lou’s gonna throw a fit in the morning, but there’s nothing to be done about that.

She turns her phone back on. Zayn’s just texted her alright which—okay, that’s weird, Niall’s heard her rant about how “alright” isn’t a real fucking word, Niall, people can’t write it as two words and that’s terrible enough times to know it should matter but she doesn’t have the energy left to think about it.

She texts Harry instead, what the fuck, and tosses her phone to the side before crawling into bed with Lou, holding her.

 

Niall stays at Louise’s for two days. She skips her Monday classes, spends the three hours she would have been learning about maths curled around Lou, playing Almost Lover on repeat and listening to Lou tell all the stories Niall’s heard a thousand times before, sing the lyrics when she tries to tidy up (before she finds a bottle of perfume that was once Harry’s and she sits on the floor, staring at it with her mouth open).

The thing is, Niall doesn’t much remember her breakup with Jade. She remembers crying, and watching Love, Actually about a thousand times, and listening to super angry pump-up music on repeat to get herself to do anything—but she doesn’t remember the other girls helping her in any specific ways, just that every time she reached out, they were there to make sure she didn’t fall.

Louise holds onto her now, cries into the sweater she’s been wearing for too long (she refuses to take it off, says she’ll wear it until it stops smelling like Harry, but Niall saw her spray it with the perfume when she thought she was alone) and whispers why’d she leave me?

“I don’t know, babe,” Niall says. She reaches out but Lou pulls away, and Niall’s hand falls to the carpet with a soft thud. She wishes she were better at this (like Zayn; Zayn always knows what to say to make even the saddest person smile).

Lou sits up, brings her knees into her chest and rests her chin on top of them. “She hasn’t been by to get her things,” she says, voice small.

“Well, she technically doesn’t live here,” Niall tells her. “She might think she’s not welcome back.”

“Good,” Lou says, but there’s no heat behind it; just an underlying sadness that Niall doesn’t know how to get rid of.

 

She leaves on Tuesday morning, because her professor won’t care what her excuse is, will knock ten points off her grade and she really can’t afford that. Louise is still asleep, wrapped in the duvet. Niall kisses her on the forehead and leaves a bunch of sticky notes with encouraging messages for her to find.

She sits through her music theory course, doodling in the corners of her page (and that makes her think of Zayn, and that makes her shut her eyes tight against the wave of you need to tell her). She texts Liam when she’s out.

hey want to grab a coffee? i want to talk to you x

  
  


Liam shows up not more than fifteen minutes later, beanie pulled over her hair. She sits down in front of Niall, biting her lip. “How is she?”

Niall frowns. “How’s Harry?” She can hear the venom in her voice; but Louise is her girl, has always been her girl. (They’re all hers but Louise is the most fragile, vulnerable, the one who’ll never admit it but always need a cuddle. She’s the one that fell apart in year twelve, terrified she wouldn’t get the marks she needed; the one that smiled her way through her parents’ divorce up until her birthday, when she’d called Niall, crying hard enough she could barely speak.)

Liam swallows, looks down at her linked hands. “She’s hurting,” she says, soft.

“Why the fuck—” A man, nearby, glares at her and she makes a face, would flip him off if this weren’t a family diner.”Why’d she break up with Lou, then?” she asks in a softer voice.

“She thinks Lou was cheating on her.” Liam’s voice is long-suffering. She takes a sip of her coffee, putting her head in her hands. “I told her she’d never—but she’s more insecure than she admits, I think.”

Niall laughs, a hollow sort of thing, shaking her head. “They’re a mess.”

“So Lou—she didn’t?”

Niall glares again, sitting up straighter. “She wouldn’t,” she snaps.

“Okay! It’s just—I guess she was hanging out with Eleanor?” Liam shrugs. “And Harry thought—she heard giggling, or something, and she’s never—never trusted Eleanor.”

“El’s dating someone, isn’t she? Some bloke from Manchester?”

Liam wrinkles her nose. “Is she?”

Niall takes a drink and nods, trying and failing to avoid rolling her eyes.

“So what do we do?” Liam asks.

Niall shrugs. “They need to work this out on her own.”

Liam pauses, pressing her lips together. “Is it awful of me if I want to tell you my own good news?” she asks in a low voice.

Niall laughs. “No, babe. It’s fine. Is it about Danielle?” she asks, winking.

Liam bites the end of her straw. “Maybe,” she says with a smile Niall’s never seen on her before. “We’ve been out a few times, she’s—lovely.”

Niall claps a few times, smiling. “Tell me everything! Is she as amazing as you thought?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, a dreamy smile on her face. “She’s wonderful, honestly. She’s so—kind, and smart, and a dancer, jesus.”

“Must be something special to make you give me up,” Niall says with a wink and a cheeky grin. She softens it, though, adds “I’m really happy for you,” reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze.

Liam looks at her. She opens and shuts her mouth a few times. “Now it’s time for you to get Zayn, yeah?” she asks.

Niall freezes. “You think?” she asks, voice tiny.

“I think you should at least try. I think—god, it’s obvious she loves you so much more than anything else.” Liam smiles. “I think you two could be wonderful.”

“Maybe I will,” Niall says.

Maybe.

 

Harry’s not home when she gets back; the flat is empty but for Zayn. Soft music’s coming from her room, the music she always plays when she’s working. Niall doesn’t want to be the one to interrupt that.

She tosses her keys to the side, lets her shoulders slump. She thinks she might be falling apart, a little bit, feels like a stuffed animal with a broken seam. Everything’s going to spill out of her if she doesn’t try to keep it in.

She presses her palms against her forehead, inexplicable tears at the edge of her eyes. She grabs the bottle of wine she tucked in the back of her fridge out and brings it to her room, sits on the floor and plays guitar with sips of wine between every song until she’s crying with it, shoulders shaking and breaths coming out in harsh pants.

She keeps it contained enough that Zayn doesn’t hear, doesn’t check on her for the rest of the night.

She falls asleep hugging her guitar, face pressed against the frets, eyeliner streaks all down her face.

 

In the morning, she cleans her face up before leaving, forcing a smile onto her face before she walks out. Zayn’s sitting at the table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of her.

“How’re you?” Niall asks, bumping her hip against Zayn’s arm.

Zayn offers a smile and a faint shrug but nothing more, closes her eyes and hums.

Niall sits across from her and kicks Zayn’s shin, light.

Zayn just smiles, doesn’t move.

Niall doesn’t either.

 

Niall dials Harry on Thursday, after her philosophy class. She’s biking back to her flat, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry says, voice softer and slower than normal. “If you’re calling to yell at me I’m really not in the mood, Ni.”

“I’m not.” Niall pauses; she’s not sure why she is calling, only that she hasn’t seen Harry in days and that’s the longest they’ve gone since the break. She looks up at the sky; the leaves are so green. It’s a rare warm day in London. “Want to go for a walk?” she asks. Fresh air’s always made her feel better—well, that and cheap vodka.

Harry’s quiet for a long time. “Dunno if I can,” she says, voice tight.

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right there.”

 

She stops at a store and gets a bunch of brightly-colored scarves, picks a few flowers and ties them together. When she walks into the flat, Harry’s on the couch, wrapped in Zayn’s duvet. Legally Blonde is on the telly; Zayn’s at Harry’s feet, not saying anything, just looking at her.

Niall forces a smile, holds out the scarves and flowers. “Thought this might cheer you up.

Harry sits up, frowning, but she smiles a little bit when she sees the scarves. “You’re wonderful,” she says, making grabby hand motions for them. Niall hands them off, and she ties the fuschia one around her head, sticks a daisy behind her ear. “How do I look?” she asks.

She looks like siht, but she looks and sounds more like Harry than she had when Niall walked in, so she counts it as a win. “Wonderful, babe,” she says.

Zayn nods, sitting up as well and mouthing a thank you at Niall over Harry’s head. “You want to get out of here? Just us?” she asks.

Harry shrugs. “I’d need to shower,” she says. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Niall and Zayn look at each other for only a second before they both nod. “What if we were in the bathroom with you?” Zayn asks. “We could talk to you through the curtain.”

Inexplicably, Harry starts to cry. Niall widens her eyes and both she and Zayn wrap their arms around Harry, hold her tight. “What’s wrong?” Zayn asks.

“You’re just—such good friends,” Harry hiccups, “and neither of you—I should have dated you instead of a girl who cheated on me—”

“She didn’t,” Niall starts.

Zayn cuts her off with a slap to the back of the head, mouths no at her.

Niall falls silent. “Of course,” she says, for lack of something better to say. “We love you, only want you to be happy.”

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, sniffling and wiping at her nose, her eyes. She stands up, stretches. Her jumper twists. Niall notices with a start that it’s Louise’s. “I’ll shower, but only if you guys are there.”

  
  


Harry doesn’t actually talk to them much when she’s in the shower; she hums to herself, says things every few minutes only to prove they’re still there. Niall sits on the counter next to Zayn and they hold hands. Niall leans her head on Zayn’s shoulder. Her heart races, but almost calmly.

“You guys still there?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn calls. She looks at Niall, worry in her eyes. She leans in close. “We’re good, yeah?”

Niall shivers, and closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. “Yeah, of course we are,” she breathes out.

She pulls away, and Zayn is so close. Niall can see the smudges of her eyeliner from last night, the remnants of lipstick. She smells like peppermint.

Zayn sucks in a breath and leans in, barely but there.

“I,” Niall whispers, licking her lips and biting her lip.

“Oh,” Zayn murmurs, low and dark, and kisses her.

It’s falling and being caught, it’s everything going dark and slamming into place, it’s Zayn kissing Niall. Niall lets out a quiet squeak and presses closer, reaching up to thread through the edge of Zayn’s hair, drag her nails across the side of her head.

Zayn whimpers, and opens her mouth.

The water shuts off.

Niall pulls away, bullet-fast, and looks at the wall opposite her, trying to calm her breathing down.

Zayn doesn’t say anything, and neither does Niall.

 

They bike to the park that Niall goes in the middle of the night sometimes. Harry sits between the two of them, shoulders slumped forward on the carousel.

“Why do you think she cheated?” Niall asks when they’ve been there twenty minutes and no one’s spoken.

Harry presses her lips together. “Found El’s bra in her room,” she says. “And I know that doesn’t mean anything but she didn’t deny it right away? And after she did she just—I don’t know if I can trust her.”

“You’ve been with her for a million years,” Zayn says, pulling out a fag and lighting up. Harry takes one without asking, holds it up to her lips and breathes in shakily. “You can’t trust her?”

Harry shrugs, staring down. “El was her first girlfriend. I’m just—me.”

“Fuck that,” Niall says. She stands up only to kneel down in front of Harry, clasp her cheeks between her palms and make her look at Niall. “You’re Harriet Anne Styles, you’re lovely and kind and a brilliant singer, and this breakup was a cock-up on your part but other than that you’ve not done much to alienate her.” Niall shrugs. “She’s miserable without you, Haz.”

Harry’s face crumples. “Is she really?” she asks. “God.” She bites her lip, hand still holding the cigarette shaking. “She could have El, though. If she wanted.”

“She doesn’t want anyone but you, idiot,” Zayn says, shoving her lightly.

Harry starts to cry again, soft, shoulders shaking with it. She presses her face against Niall’s chest. Zayn takes her cigarette, stamps it out under her boot. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did,” Niall says, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it.”

“She won’t talk to me,” Harry says. “I’ve tried.”

“So you wait until it’s less fresh. Might make it easier on both of you if it’s not so volatile.”

Harry waits a minute before answering, staring at her boots, playing with the sand. “What if she finds someone else?” she asks.

Niall breathes out, shrugging. “Don’t think she will, if I’m being honest.”

Harry looks at her, red-rimmed eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods. On the other side of Harry, Zayn does the same.

They walk back with Harry cuddled up to Zayn’s chest, smoking another cigarette. Her flower’s fallen out somewhere but Niall doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Her headband’s still there, still bright and loud where the rest of Harry is soft and quiet, hurting.

Niall swallows. When she catches eyes with Zayn, she doesn’t linger, makes herself look away. Today’s about Harry, about Louise; they need her more than Niall needs to think about herself.

She wants to cry, wants to shout and throw things, but she focuses on Harry instead. Harry’s her best friend; Harry’s the one that needs to be comforted.

 

“This was an excellent idea,” Niall says, taking a sip of her Coke.

Harry smiles and nods, though it seems forced. Her hands are shaking when she sets them down on the table; Niall hasn’t seen her like this since she stopped smoking, fingers shaking with the itch to light up again.That was two years ago (maybe Lou was her new addiction, she thinks idly, and closes her eyes against what that would mean).

Zayn bumps her shoulder against Harry’s. She’s bitten down on the end of her straw and—Niall knows what she tastes like, now, knows what kissing her is like and it’s horrible, to know and not have. Nialltakes a bite of pie, looking out the window instead of at the two of them.

Harry shifts in her seat. Her fingers are folded on the table and she stares at them and then Niall, opening and shutting her mouth a few times. After a long moment and a deep breath, she says, “I should have stayed with her.”

“Because she didn’t cheat?” Niall asks. She’s proud that only a bit of her anger seeps into her voice (she’s never been all that good at hiding her emotions about anything).

Harry snorts. “Nah, because it shouldn’t have mattered if she did.”

There’s another pause, quiet enough that Niall can hear the ticking of the clock, the way the waitress is humming to herself in the kitchen, the coffeepot dripdripdripping.

“Babe,” Zayn says. Her voice is careful, measured. She sends Niall a panicked look and wraps her arm around Harry’s shoulders. “What are you saying?”

Harry slumps down to the table, leaning her head on her arm. She looks so small like this, small in a way Niall’s never seen. “Should’ve stayed,” she murmurs, muffled by her arm, voice shaking in the way that means she’s crying. “I love her, I need her.”

“No, you don’t,” Zayn says, voice firm. She’s rubbing Harry’s back, mouth set in a defiant line. “You don’t need anyone but yourself.”

“Says you,” Harry says, barely lifting up her head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zayn asks.

Harry snorts, sitting up all the way and shrugging her shoulders until Zayn’s arm falls. “You’re—” and she waves a hand at her, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “You’re you and you have—” She breathes out, sharp, fluffing her hand through her fringe. “I just.” Her chin crumples and she wipes at her eyes, lip wobbling. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice trembling.

Zayn brings her in for another hug, resting her chin on top of her head.

Harry sniffles. “‘m gonna ruin your shirt,” she says, voice slow.

Niall rolls her eyes, nudging her under the table. “We don’t give a shit,” she says. The lady at the table across from them sends her a pointed look. Generally she’d apologize but tonight she flips her off instead.

Zayn catches her and covers her laugh with a cough.

“Of course you’re gonna say that,” Harry says, peeking at her with an almost smile on her face. Niall brings her attention away from the bitchy lady. “You’re not the one getting snotted on.”

“Well, get over here, then,” Niall says, opening her arms. “Could do with a good bout of being cried on, hasn’t happened in a while.” She looks at Zayn without meaning to.

Zayn looks like she remembers Perrie, too, and Niall has to squeeze her eyes shut again against the memory; Zayn clinging to her, not understanding. Harry scoots over to sit by her on the other side of the circular table and Niall wraps Harry in a hug, rocking back and forth.

“You’re too small for cuddles,” Harry grumbles, but she laughs when she says it.

“You wanna go back home?” Zayn asks, leaning over the table, resting her chin on her hand. “We can—I dunno, play FIFA and get drunk.”

Harry grins; Niall can feel it, pressed against her neck.“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs.

Niall links her arm with Harry’s, smiling at the waitress and giving a wave. The night is warm enough that her cardigan is enough. She smiles, looking up at the stars.

“Love you,” Harry whispers into Niall’s neck, pressing a delicate kiss there.

Niall doesn’t say anything, tightens her arm and nods. On Harry’s other side, Zayn joins them. They walk down the road together, only a few cars interrupting their quiet.

Zayn unlocks the door and tosses her purse to the side. It lands in the same spot it always does, barely a meter away from the table they have. Niall can’t even bring herself to be irritated about it, just rolls her eyes and bumps her hip against Zayn’s.

Harry sits on the couch, resting her feet on the coffee table. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She’s chewing on her lower lip. She looks lost in thought.

Niall sits on the table, tugging off Harry’s shoes and tossing them to the side. “You deserve better than someone who would cheat on you,” she says.

Harry’s jaw tightens and she doesn’t look at Niall, stares at a spot on the wall.

The seconds tick by.

“What if I could be happy?” Harry asks.

“You still deserve better,” Zayn tells her, leaning against the wall. “It’s not real happiness if there’s shit like that.”

A smile flickers across Harry’s face for a second. “Thought pain was necessary for any real joy.”

Niall snorts. “That’s bullshit, something artists say to make themselves feel better about their tortured souls.” She waits a beat, and then, “no offense, Zayn, darling.”

Zayn’s on her way to her room and she doesn’t answer, just smacks the back of Niall’s head.

Niall gets lost in thought, and when she pulls herself out of her reverie Harry’s sprawled out along the couch, covered in the throw blanket Louise’s grandma made Niall when she was a kid.

“Good night, sleepyhead,” Niall says, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead.

“Mmm, night,” Harry whispers, already half-asleep.

Zayn comes out of her room, then, in her pajamas. Her face is clear of make-up and she’s brushing her teeth. “She okay?” she asks around a mouthful of foam.

Niall watches Zayn for a moment, and this is stupid, so stupid. “You want to talk?” she asks, jerking her head toward her room.

Zayn presses her lips together. She looks tired, bags under her eyes from what Niall guesses are days of not sleeping. “Yeah, okay,” she breathes out. “I need a smoke, though.”

They end up on the porch, Niall holding onto the railing with a death grip. It reminds her of that night all those months ago, the two of them pleasantly tipsy, though this is a different flat. It feels like a different life.

“What’s on your mind?” Zayn asks, bumping their shoulders together. She grins at her, fingers holding the fag loosely, smoke curling out of her mouth.

Niall presses her lips together and goes for broke. “You,” she says.

Zayn audibly chokes. She brings her cigarette back up to her lips, sucks hard enough that her cheeks hollow. “You can’t just say that,” she murmurs, eyes shut tight. Her eyeliner’s smeared, hair in a loose knot on the top of her head. She’s beautiful, Niall thinks, and then her stomach turns over when the words sink in.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, staring at the ground. The night’s warm, a breeze coming by and making her hair flutter around her head. “I just—” She cuts herself off with a sharp shake of her head.

Zayn chuckles, a low, dark thing. She drops her cigarette and stomps it out under the heel of her boot. “You’re an idiot,” she says, walking over to where Niall is, bracketing her in against the railing.

Niall’s breath catches in her throat. “Don’t fuck with me,” she says, voice soft enough she can barely hear it.

Zayn runs a hand through her hair, a soft smile playing at the edges of her lips. “I would never,” she promises, and kisses her.

It’s different from their kiss before; it’s a promise, a reassurance. Niall opens her mouth and properly kisses her, getting one hand on Zayn’s hip and the other at the back of her neck. She has to go on her toes to reach her, likes the way she has to lean up.

“Fuck,” Zayn whispers, moving back to press their foreheads together. She smells like perfume and cigarette smoke.

Niall smiles, wide enough it hurts the sides of her cheeks. “Yeah,” she says, and kisses her again.

She goes for it this time, opens her mouth right away and kisses her hard and dirty. Zayn makes the most amazing noises, little gasps and moans that make Niall think more, make her back arch and her breath come out stuttered. She has to pull away, head spinning too much for kissing. She presses her forehead against Zayn’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” Zayn whispers.

Niall wants, wants everything, but her heart feels tight in her chest. “We should go back inside,” she whispers, soft enough that the breeze almost carries it away.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn murmurs, eyes tracing a line down her face. “You’re so beautiful,” she adds, almost like it’s not an accident, an afterthought.

And that—that’s too much for Niall’s heart to take, too much to handle. She pushes Zayn away the slightest bit, licks over her lips. “You, too,” she says, smiling a little bit. She walks inside, Zayn’s feet shuffling behind her.

She goes into her room without a word, lying on her bed, curling around a pillow. She still smells like Zayn.

She hears footsteps stop outside her door, and she wants Zayn to come in so much as she doesn’t, as she’s afraid (afraid of Zayn not feeling the same, of her saying I want casual, like you and Liam had).

After a long while, Zayn walks past and the next thing Niall hears is the soft click of her door shutting.

Niall wakes up to her phone ringing, loud and shrill in her ear.

“What?” she says, head smushed against her pillow.

“I need to talk to you.” Louise’s voice is soft, delicate. “Can you come here?”

“Yeah, babe, of course I can.” Niall yawns halfway through the sentence, shaking her head. She stands up, goes to her dresser to grab clothes. “What do you need?”

“I just,” Lou takes a deep breath, half-choked on a sob, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Want me to bring Zayn?” Niall keeps her voice composed and even, calm. Inside, everything’s shaking apart, and she wants to say I need Zayn and I have to tell you something. She doesn’t know whether Zayn feels the same but she’s hopeful, lets herself remember last night with a smile and a warm shiver up her spine.

“No!” Her voice is sharp. “No, just—just you. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“All right.” She pulls on her trainers and ties up her hair, popping a piece of gum in her mouth.

Zayn’s already awake, sketching at the kitchen table, socked feet resting on another chair. She looks up. Her face is open. Niall can see the worry there, plain as anything. “Hey,” she says, voice soft and cracked; it sounds like it does when she hasn’t slept. “How’d you sleep?”

Niall can’t do this, can’t deal with Zayn being heartbreakingly beautiful and Lou being heartbreaking—she shakes her head, shrugging on a light jacket. It’s the middle of May but the mornings are cool enough she thinks she’ll need it. “Can’t talk, gotta go,” she says, grabbing her key and putting it in her pocket. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn says, voice small.

Niall wants to run to her, wrap her arms around her slumped shoulders and kiss her until neither of them can breathe. But Lou’s soft please echoes in her mind and instead she just offers a wave, and leaves.

 

Lou’s sitting on her front porch, feet tucked under her, arms wrapped around her knees. She’s not slept either, hair a mess around her head, eyes red and puffy. She’s wearing an old, faded sweatshirt and sleep shorts, is leaning against the railing on her porch.

“Hey,” Niall murmurs, sitting down and pulling her in for a hug. “What’s up, babe?”

Lou shakes her head, lips pressed together tightly.

Niall’s heart aches for her, and she rubs her shoulder, nodding. “Okay, that’s okay,” she whispers.

The sun rises properly, everything around them warm. Niall takes her jacket off while Louise just leans on her, holds onto her with a tight grip. It’s long enough that Niall’s arse is beginning to ache, her fingers cramping up where Lou’s grabbed her hand, before Lou says anything.

“What did Harry tell you?” she asks.

Niall bites her lip. She’s not sure what protocol is here—but she’s sure that Lou’s got to know why Harry broke up with her. “She thinks you cheated,” she says. “But I told her you didn’t, you wouldn’t.” She can’t keep the question out of her voice, the unspoken right? that hangs in the air between them.

Lou nods, and closes her eyes, silent tears going down her cheeks. “I appreciate that,” she says, hiccuping out a little laugh. “But, uh,” and she looks up at the sky, takes a shaky breath. “She’s not wrong.”

“You—what?” Niall’s hand stills where it’s been rubbing encouraging circles into her shoulder. “You—fuck, Lou.”

“I didn’t,” she says, shaking her head. She looks down at her feet, presses her palms flat against them. “But I could have, I wanted to, I—” She makes a noise like a strangled cat, crying again, louder, guttural. “I didn’t want to but I did, and—I didn’t but almost.” She barely gets the last words out before she’s pushing her face against Niall’s chest like she’s trying to bury herself there.

Niall’s arms go tight around her; even now, even when—fuck—Lou almost—Niall still wants to hold her, protect her from everything bad in the world.

“Do you hate me?” Lou asks after a while, when she’s calmed herself down enough to be able to speak in more than great heaving breaths. She looks at Niall, tear tracks and mascara all down her cheeks.

Niall shakes her head, thumbing away the worst of it. She kisses Lou on the forehead, delicate. “Why, though?” she asks in a tone that she hopes conveys worry instead of anger.

Lou shrugs, shrinking in on herself. She’s the oldest but right now she seems so young, like Lottie or Fizz, a kid Niall needs to take care of. “I love Harry,” she says to the ground. Her fingers are still vice-tight around Niall’s. “But I get the feeling sometimes that she’s with me just to be with me, you know?” She waits a beat, swallows. “Or was, I guess.”

“She loves you,” Niall says. It sounds like a meaningless platitude, she’s aware, but she has to say it.

Lou laughs, bitter. “She broke up with me.”

“You almost slept with Eleanor,” Niall says, gentle. “Can you blame her? I mean, what if she’d hooked up with Nick?”

Lou nods, fingers tapping on the concrete. “You’re right,” she breathes, voice almost awed, but in the most horrible way. “I shouldn’t—” She stands up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I want her back,” she says, steady and sure.

“Hey.” Niall stands up, too, puts her hands on her shoulders and tries to keep her still. “Not unless you’re sure.”

Lou’s chin wobbles but she stays stony, staring at Niall with defiance in her eyes. “Sure of what?” she asks. Her voice barely shakes; Niall would be proud of her if she weren’t such an idiot.

“Sure of Harry,” she says, voice getting louder with each word. This isn’t the girl she’s known for years; her Louise doesn’t cheat, doesn’t lie, doesn’t use people like this. She’s spent so long defending Lou that now, to find out Harry wasn’t wrong, is like a fucking slap in the face. “Sure that you’re not just gonna fuck the next girl that looks at you—”

“I wouldn’t!” Lou shouts, and then they’re an arms’ width apart, breathing heavy and looking at one another.

“You almost did,” Niall tells her, sharp.

Lou looks like she’s been slapped, eyes wide and mouth open. “Fuck you,” she snaps, and then—almost in the same breath—”fuck,” again, but soft. Her face crumples in on itself. “I almost did.” She looks at Niall. Her eyelashes are wet, stuck together in clumps; her eyes are filled with tears. “I don’t know why,” she whispers.

Niall wants to hold her, tell her it’s all okay, but she’s still mad, so fucking mad. “Figure it out,” she says, crossing her arms. “Don’t fuck Harry around like this, it’s not fair to her.”

Lou nods, looks at her feet. Her chin wobbles. “Okay,” she promises.

Niall’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she winces. Zayn. “I have to go,” she says. “I’m—” sorry, she thinks but doesn’t say—”here for you, if you want to talk.”

“All right.” It’s barely a whisper. Lou visibly swallows. “Can I have a hug, though?”

“Of course,” Niall says, and hugs her tight. “I love you,” she says, “I just—you’re being a bit of an idiot right now.”

Lou doesn’t say anything, but her arms tighten. It’s as much of an acknowledgement, an agreement, as Niall is likely to get.

 

The walk back to her flat is nerve-wracking; she thinks of all the ways it can go wrong, all the things Zayn can say—I don’t want you that way, I want this to be casual, and she almost hates herself for thinking I’d take that anyway.

She remembers Zayn’s face, though, eyes open and disbelieving, mouth a little smile—that can’t be faked, she’s sure of it.

Or—she’s sure until she opens the door and sees Zayn, curled up on the couch, pencil in hand. She sees the edge of a smile before Zayn shuts the book.

Zayn smiles up at her with a practiced, fake grin. “Hey, darling. How are you?”

Niall has a thousand things to say, but she can’t think of any of them. Zayn’s in trackies and an old fleece because their flat is freezing at the best of times, and—she can’t help herself.

She walks to the couch, sits down on her lap, and kisses her.

Zayn makes a pleased sort of noise, arms wrapping around her back. When she pulls away, she tilts her head. “So this is going to be our thing, then?” she asks, voice purposely high. Niall would believe the casual tone if she hadn’t known her for ages, didn’t see the way her eyes darted away at the last second.

Niall’s breath is coming out too quick, her heart racing. She nods, stiff and jerky. “If you want it to be,” she says, and thinks I love you I love you I love you.

“Okay.” Zayn huffs out another giggle and grabs Niall’s waist. She darts her eyes between Niall’s lips and her eyes, and then finally, finally kisses her.

It’s hesitant, gentle. Niall cradles the side of Zayn’s face, leans in, thinks please and more. Her heart’s still racing and she doesn’t think this is casual but she has to know, has to be sure.

She breaks away, pressing her face against Zayn’s shoulder. “I can’t,” she says.

Zayn stiffens, hands falling away immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not—” Niall looks up at her, steels herself. Go big or go home, she thinks; it’s something Lou used to say when they were little and Niall was scared. “I can’t be casual,” she says. “Not—not with you.”

Zayn just looks at her, entirely still. “What?” she asks.

Niall feels like a bit of a tit. She sits up, untangling herself from Zayn. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I didn’t mean—I don’t want things to be awkward.” She looks away, heart falling in her chest. She’d thought—but it was a hope more than anything else. At least now I know for sure, she thinks. It’s not really a comfort. She’s blushing, can feel it.

“No, I—” Zayn presses her cool palms against the Niall’s cheeks, makes Niall look at her. “Not casual?”

Niall shakes her head. There’s a silly sort of hope trying to bloom in her chest. “No,” she whispers. “I can’t, I thought I could but I can’t.”

Zayn’s grin is sudden and absolutely blinding. Niall can’t even hate herself for the shitty metaphor because Zayn is kissing her again, so hard Niall can barely breathe.

Niall laughs and settles on Zayn’s lap, legs on either side of her. She’s shaking with how much she wants, trying to press herself closer and closer though there’s nowhere else to go.

“Want to go down on you,” Zayn whispers, pulling back enough to whisper it in Niall’s ear. “If you want.”

Niall shivers, arching her back. Zayn kisses her neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto Niall’s hip. “That’s—oh, fuck, that’s okay,” she breathes.

She stands up. Zayn’s face falls for a second.

Niall smiles and grabs Zayn’s hand, pulling her up as well. She kisses her, walking backwards until they get into her room, can fall onto her bed.

Zayn crawls over her, slow, eyes locked on Niall’s. “Thought about this the other night,” she breathes, fingers playing with the edge of Niall’s shirt. She kisses her stomach, just above her waistband. “Fucked myself thinking about you.”

Niall spreads her legs almost unconsciously, nodding. “Fuck,” she whimpers.

“Just want you so much,” Zayn says. She sits up to pull her shirt off and nods at Niall. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Niall whispers, sitting up so they can get it off. She shimmies out of her joggers, as well, and then she’s just in her knickers, soaked through.

Zayn sits up to stare at her, licking her lips. “Jesus, you’re gorgeous.” It comes out like a prayer. She leans down, biting at Niall’s neck again and playing with her nipple, rolling it between her fingers.

Niall nods, biting her lip hard, keeping her moans soft.

“No,” Zayn whispers, looking up at her. She trails her fingers down to Niall’s knickers, playing with the edge, just teasing. “I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

Niall gasps a little, hips shifting up. “Then touch me,” she whispers.

Zayn laughs. It comes out kind of strangled. “I am touching you,” she says, still teasing, barely any friction at all. “What more do you want?”

“Fuck you,” Niall says. There’s no heat behind it, only a desperate strain. “I’ve wanted you for ages,” she says, “you’re going to tease me now?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Zayn says, and she kisses Niall as she pushes her knickers aside to slide a finger into her.

Niall gasps and wraps her arms around Zayn’s neck, nodding nonsensically. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Zayn bites Niall’s lip. Niall moans.

“Mmm,” Zayn whispers, fucking her properly, rubbing at her clit with her thumb, “yeah, Jesus, want to taste you.”

Niall shivers and nods, pushing at Zayn’s shoulders. She wants to keep kissing her but more than that she wants to feel Zayn licking at her, watching her from between her thighs. “Yes, please,” Niall whispers.

“So polite,” Zayn murmurs, shifting so she’s barely a centimeter from Niall’s cunt. She bites the inside of Niall’s thigh, a promise. “You deserve a reward.”

“Well, get on with—oh.” Niall cuts herself off with a gasp when Zayn licks at her, through her knickers.

“That what you wanted?” Zayn asks, pulling back just to pull them down. She sucks at Niall’s clit, keeping their eyes locked.

Niall nods.

Zayn threads their fingers together and hums, gets to it, alternates between long, slow drags of her tongue and little kitten licks that have Niall aching, desperate to come.

“Fuck, I fucking love you, fuck,” she gets out, voice shaking. She can’t feel self-conscious about it, not when everything feels this good. All her nerves are standing on edge, and she’s so fucking close.

Zayn hums again and slides two fingers into her, fucking her quickly, evenly, still sucking at her clit.

Niall comes with a half-shout, fingers tightening around Zayn’s. She lies there, staring at the ceiling, for a long moment.

“You’re so hot,” Zayn breathes, and crawls up Niall’s body to kiss her.

Niall fumbles but finds Zayn’s clit, rubs it in a quick rhythm. It doesn’t take long at all before Zayn’s coming as well, biting down on Niall’s lower lip and moaning, low, soft.

Niall hums and pulls Zayn’s arms around her, pressing herself back against Zayn’s chest. She breathes out, her heartbeat slowing down. “I meant it,” she says, when it’s been quiet a while.

“Hmm?” Zayn asks.

Niall flushes. “When I said that I, uh. Love you.” She winces; it’s such a cliche, but she hadn’t been able to help herself.

Zayn smiles; Niall can feel it pressed against her shoulder. “Love you, too,” she says.

Niall’s stomach interrupts the moment with a loud grumble.

Zayn laughs and pushes at Niall’s shoulder. “Get us some food, then. Think we’ve got leftover pizza in the fridge.”

Niall grins and only pulls on a pair of knickers and a white tanktop, winking at Zayn as she leaves to grab the food.

“I couldn’t find any soda,” she says, coming back into the room, “but I found some wine, is that—what’s up?”

Zayn’s staring at her, mouth parted a little bit. She clears her throat. “Nothing. Just—thought about how lucky I am.” She turns pink, looks at her lap.

Niall grins. “I’m the lucky one, babe,” she whispers, setting the food down and kissing her, soft. It’s all saccharine and Niall should hate herself—but she’s just too happy to care.

 

“I have something to show you,” Zayn whispers, later that night, when the sky is only lit by a few stars and the rest of the flat is dark.

Niall sits up, smiles. They’ve not left her room in hours; everything smells like Zayn’s perfume and sex. It’s heady. “What’s that, babe?”

Zayn tosses her legs over the edge of the bed and shrugs, fidgeting. “I’ll just—be right back, okay?”

Niall waits, the sheets pooled around her waist. She’s almost worried, though she knows she has no reason to be—Zayn looked nervous, not like she was about to break up with her.

Zayn comes back in. She’s got her sketchbook in one hand.

Niall’s eyes widen and she reaches out, mouth open. “You finished your project?” she asks.

Zayn nods, worry shining through her gaze. “I,” she starts. “I just hope you like it.”

She’s an idiot. I’m dating an idiot. “I’ll love it.”

Zayn doesn’t look convinced, but she hands it over, sitting behind Niall and putting her arms around her, leaning her head on Niall’s shoulder.

There are three pictures on the page that Zayn’s got bookmarked. They’re very clearly Niall, though they’re drawn in a messy almost-scrawl. Despite the style they’re incredibly detailed; Niall can see the necklace she used to wear all the time, can almost see the different hair colors in the shading of the pencil.

They’re drawn with a sort of reverence. If Niall had doubted before that Zayn loved her as fiercely as Niall did—this, this would be the end of it.

She stares at the pictures for a long time, running her fingertips over them, lightly enough that it doesn’t smudge. “They’re beautiful,” she says.

Zayn smiles. “Thank you,” she says, and then, “I love you.”

Niall kisses her hard, pushing her down against the bed. She takes care to set the sketchbook to the side and then she’s leaning over her,  trying to pour everything into the kiss.

Zayn’s laughing when they separate, hair a mess around her head, the little makeup she had on smudged. “You’re fantastic,” she says.

Niall kisses her again.

 

“Will you play your song for me?” Zayn asks on a Saturday evening. It’s just the two of them; Harry’s gone to bed, having moved back into her old room.

Niall nods. There’s no real nerves other than the obvious—this is Zayn, though, and she wants to be good enough for her, wants it to be enough.

Zayn trusted her to see the picture, though, and so Niall nods, drains the last of her coke and stands up. “I’ll grab my guitar.”

Zayn’s got herself all wrapped up in a pile of blankets. It’s too warm in the flat for Niall but Zayn loves the warmth, wants it to always be hot. She grins when she sees Niall.

Niall sits down at the other edge of the couch. Her heart’s racing and she takes a few steadying breaths. “This—I just hope you like it,” she says, not making eye contact.

Zayn doesn’t say anything.

She plays the first few notes before she really gets into it and can look at Zayn again, Zayn who’s staring at her hands, mouth open a little bit. “Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me,” she sings. Her voice is just this side of too raspy, not as clear as usual; she likes it, though, and so does Zayn, if her grin is anything to go by.

She’s half through the chorus when Zayn starts crying, silent tears. Niall swallows and keeps going, puts everything into it.

Zayn’s on her as soon as the last note is played, holding tight. “I love you so much,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

Niall’s heart is finally starting to calm. Everything’s slotted into place; she’s content.

Harry pops her head out of her room. “What was that?” she asks, face scrunched up.

“Niall wrote me a song,” Zayn says, hand at her mouth. Her voice shakes a little bit.

“Oh.” Harry’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, and she nods. “I—okay.”

Niall’s heart goes out to her. “Let’s have a cuddle,” she says, mouthing sorry at Zayn when Harry folds into her arms.

They watch Strictly until Harry falls asleep and Niall and Zayn go back to Niall’s room (both of theirs, really; they’ve slept together every night and Niall doesn’t really want it to stop).

 

“Danielle’s here!” Louise shouts from the kitchen.

Niall’s bringing plates to the table (real plates, honestly, they eat off paper more often than not; Liam must really like this girl) and she gets to see the panic on Liam’s face, the way she fixes her fringe in the mirror just beside the door.

“It’ll be okay,” Niall whispers. “She likes you, yeah? Nothing to worry about.”

Liam nods, and takes a visible breath, and opens the door. “Hi!” she says, giving Danielle a rushed hug and kiss.

Niall gets it; when she was dating Jade last year (and there’s only the dullest ache there now; according to Lou Jade’s with Perrie now) she was terrified about her friends not liking her, not approving.

Danielle walks all the way into the flat, smiling. She’s wearing a forcedly casual outfit; skinny jeans and a nice top, makeup careful and natural. She looks nervous, biting her lip and looking to Liam for guidance.

Niall can’t take it. She grins and walks to her, giving her a hug. “I’m Niall,” she says. She links their arms together and walks Danielle to the kitchen, where Harry’s making food and Lou’s studying her phone, careful not to make eye contact. “These two idiots are Harriet and Louise,” she says, nodding at each of them.

“My name’s not Harriet,” Harry says, distracted; she’s looking at the stove, setting the timer.

“I’m Lou,” and then Lou’s shaking hands with Danielle, all smiles. She hops down from her perch on the counter, tugging Danielle along. “I’ll give you the tour, yeah?”

As soon as Louise is gone, Harry’s shoulders fall, tension bleeding out. “This sucks,” she breathes, pressing her forehead against the cabinet.

“You want to leave?” Niall asks, standing behind her and wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist. “I can make an excuse for you, if you want.”

“No, I’m—I’ll be fine.” Harry rolls her shoulders back, stands up straighter. “Let’s eat, yeah? Think the lasagna is ready.”

  
  


“What do you think of Danielle?” Liam asks, when they’re doing dishes; Danielle’s gone home, begging off about an exam the next day.

Niall grins, kissing her cheek. “She’s lovely. Perfect for you, I think.” She means it; Danielle’s calm and clearly adores Liam, could barely keep her eyes off her the entire dinner. “You don’t have anything to worry about on our front.”

“Good.” Liam smiles. “That’s—good to know.” She stops washing the dishes for a second, soapy hands gripping the sink tight. “I’m serious about her, I think,” she says in a soft voice.

“I love her, too,” Lou says, too-loud. She’s cleaning off the counter. She winks at Liam. “Not that my opinion mattered so much as this one’s. Do I have to sleep with you for it to count?”

Niall’s looking at Harry when Lou talks and she sees it, the way Harry flinches, almost recoiling back. Niall nods toward the door, mouths want to talk?

After a second, Harry straightens and shakes her head. I’m fine, she mouths back.

Niall raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, goes back to drying the dishes and putting them away.

  
  


“Can I move back into my old room?” Harry asks. She’s looking at the ground when she says it. She’s come over for dinner, been quiet the whole time. “Nick’s not kicked me out but I feel bad, crashing on her couch when I have a room, and—”

“Course you can,” Zayn interrupts, pushing Niall off of her lap so she can pull Harry down, run her hand over her hair. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. Her chin wobbles but she doesn’t start crying, staring at a fixed point on the ceiling. “I’ll get my stuff—tomorrow, then.”

“We’ll come with you,” Niall promises. She grabs one of each of their hands and leans back against the sofa, thinks this fucking sucks.

  
  


Niall texted ahead to let Lou know they were coming so the flat is unlocked and empty of people.All told, it takes twenty minutes to gather all of Harry’s things; she’d grabbed some of her clothes and other essentials the night she left but her books, her CDs are still there.

She doesn’t start crying until they’re back in the car, box on her lap and several more next to her. Niall’s surprised she made it this far.

“I miss her,” Harry says around a sob, hand covering her mouth. “I just—I don’t—I need her.”

“No, you don’t,” Zayn says. She turns around, hand on Harry’s knee.

Niall looks back at her, tilts her head in a way she hopes conveys I would hug you so hard if I weren’t driving right now.

“I do,” Harry says. She sucks in a breath.

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, shoots a worried look at Niall and keeps her hand on Harry’s knee for the rest of the drive.

  
  


Lou texts Niall when she’s at a coffeeshop, a simple hey where r u. Niall lets her know. don’t move ill b right there comes back. Niall frowns. Lou’s not usually that casual with her spelling.

Lou bursts in, eyes darting around the shop. She grins when she sees Niall and rushes over, sitting down, loud. “I’ve decided,” she whispers.

Niall puts her books to the side, folds her fingers together. “On what?”

Lou bites her lip. “You know how you told me I needed to decide, about Harry?”

Niall frowns, trying to remember, and then—”Oh! Yeah, I do.” She frowns. “You’re going to try to get back together with her, then?”

“I think I am.” Lou bites her lip. “And I know she doesn’t have to, and I’ll respect that. I just—I want her to be happy.”

She’ll get back together with you, Niall doesn’t say; she remembers the broken look on Harry’s face, the way she’d said it wouldn’t matter if she had. “If you fuck this up again,” she says, voice low, “I’ll hit you. I swear.”

“I won’t.” Lou reaches out, covers Niall’s hand with her own. “I just—I fucked up but I won’t, not again.”

“All right.” Niall pulls away, leans against the cracked vinyl of the seat. “So how are you going to do it?”

Louise grins, an echo of the girl she was when she was happy all the time. “That’s actually why I came to you,” she says, looking at Niall. “I need your help.”

“You lot always need my help,” Niall says with a shake of her head. She says it fondly, though, and Lou doesn’t look offended. “What is it, then?”

“I want to write a song for her,” Lou says.

Niall frowns. “What?”

“A love song. Just—something nice and to show her that I care and then you’ll sing it, and—”

“Are you sure that’ll work?” Niall asks, careful to keep her voice soft. She doesn’t want to scare Louise away from doing it, if it’s what she wants, but she doesn’t want her to assume everything will be okay right after, either. “This isn’t like in the movies, you and Harry are going to have to actually talk and if you’re not going to—”

“I’m not stupid,” Lou says. It’s soft. “I know. But I can do this, and it’ll be a jumping-off point.”

Niall nods. “I’ll help you,” she says; of course she will, she’d go to the end of the world for Louise Tomlinson. “I just don’t want you to get your expectations crushed.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” Lou says.

Niall knows it’s a lie, can see the expectation in the set of her shoulders, the way she’d grinned when she came out with the idea. She doesn’t call her out on it, though; Lou’s always been easy to read but hates it, hates when people see through her lies, hates seeming vulnerable.

“I’ve got a class now,” Lou says, looking at her watch, “but—we can do it soon, yeah? You’ve got a show coming up?”

Niall nods. “Soon,” she promises.

  
  


“Hey, babe, what do you want for dinner?” Zayn shouts.

Niall frowns, tying her hair up and walking out of her—their, now—room. “I don’t care,” she says, flopping on the couch and looking at Zayn. She’s going for the puppy eyes, but Zayn seems to be immune. “I’m starved.”

“Chinese, then,” Zayn says, and dials the number into her phone. She’s got it memorized; Chinese is her favorite. Niall prefers Nandos, but she doesn’t want to do the work of ordering.

She closes her eyes and drifts off, only waking up when the food gets there. Zayn murmurs a quiet “Thanks, have a lovely night,” and Niall sits up, stretching.

Zayn watches her with a little smile on her face, setting the food down. “Hey there, sleepyhead.”

“Don’t call me that,” Niall says around a yawn. She’s been studying for her exams forever, it seems, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. One more week. She makes grabbyhands at the food. “Get it for me?”

Zayn rolls her eyes. “Only because you look knackered.” She fixes Niall and herself a plate, sitting down and knocking their knees together. “So what’re we watching?”

Niall shrugs, shoveling food in her mouth. “Don’t care about that either. Gotta get back to studying right after I eat.”

Zayn hums. “I’m worried about you,” she says, flicking the telly on and landing on some panel show. She eats slower than Niall; she’s already taken her exams because her teachers are lovely.

Niall shrugs, setting her half-empty plate down and curling up into a ball. “Don’t be,” she says, words already coming out slower, thicker. “I’ll be fine.” The last word trails off in a yawn and she shakes her head. “Gonna take a nap,” she says, blinking slowly up at Zayn. “Wake me in an hour?”

Zayn purses her lips but nods, adjusting the volume so the guys on the screen aren’t so loud. “Sure, babe.” She pulls Niall down so her head’s on Zayn’s leg, pulls the throw over her. Her hand rests at the top of Niall’s back, thumb rubbing circles there.

Niall’s breaths even out and for the first time in a while, she feels properly relaxed.

“Good night,” is the last thing she hears before she falls asleep.

 

She wakes up in a bit of a panic. Zayn’s gone, the blanket’s wrapped more around her, and the sky outside is dark. There’s a note on the table: if you don’t get enough sleep you’re studying will be worthless anyway. i love you. z.

She sits up and runs a hand through her hair. She wrinkles her nose; it’s getting greasy. She should really shower. She grabs her phone; it’s three in the morning.

God damn it. Now that she’s awake she doesn’t want to go back to sleep, too wound up, too full of the things she should be doing (writing a new song, or that paper for her philosophy class).

Shower first, though.

 

She’s been sitting at the kitchen table, philosophy text open, when dawn starts to creep through the windows. She’s half through her paper but her outline’s done, which is the important thing.

Zayn comes out of their room, hair tangled around her face. “Morning, love,” she says. “Sleep all right?”

“Mmm.” Niall looks away just long enough to smile at her and get a kiss. “Yeah.”

“How’s your essay going?”

“Eh,” Niall says. “Got to discuss the meaning of life and whether anything has a point,  nothing too interesting.” She rolls her eyes. Fucking existentialists.

“Mmm,” Zayn says, nonsensical. She kisses Niall’s forehead and sits down, head lolling back against the chair.

“Why’re you up?” Niall asks. “You don’t need to be for ages.”

Zayn kicks her with a socked foot. “I don’t like sleeping when you’re not there,” she says on a shrug, like that’s just something people say, like it doesn’t make Niall’s heart turn inside out.

And, honestly, fuck the paper. She stands up and shuts her laptop, grinning at Zayn and dragging her back to their room.

Zayn curls around her, a steady warmth, and this, right here, is what’s important.

“Love you,’ Zayn says, half-smothered in Niall’s hair.

Niall’s throat is too tight to speak. She tightens her grip on Zayn’s hand and lets herself fall back asleep.

  
  


“I’m going to dye my hair lilac,” Zayn says.

Niall looks up from her laptop and tilts her head, imagining it. “You’d be hot,” she decides. “I mean, you’re always hot, but, like.” She bites her lip.

Zayn laughs, and “Shove over,” she says, pushing at Niall so she can curl up next to her.

She’s like a fucking cat, honestly. Niall’s got no idea how she puts up with her (apart from the whole being stupidly in love with her thing). She stretches her arm out, tapping a beat against Zayn’s shoulder. “Why?” she asks after a long moment, closing her laptop and pulling her in for a proper cuddle. Her coursework can fuck itself.

Zayn shrugs. “No reason,” she says, but she’s lying; her voice is too tight. “Actually,” she continues, “don’t make fun of me, when I tell you?”

Niall’s heart does a weird little stutter-start thing. “Promise.”

“Right.” Zayn sits up a little bit, looks at Niall under her lashes. “You, like.” She messes with her fringe, pulls her legs up under herself. “You dyed your hair purple way back and I think that was when I realized that I was proper in love with you.”

Niall’s heart hasn’t managed to restart itself. “Uh,” she says, eloquent as always. “That’s—” It’s too much, is what it is, thinking about Zayn realizing like that.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says with a wince. “I know it’s, like, weird or whatever.”

“It’s not weird,” Niall whispers, and kisses the side of Zayn’s neck. “It’s really fucking flattering, actually.” She smiles. “You’ve only known you were into me for a few months?”

“Nah, that’s been ages,” Zayn says, voice a lot more relaxed now. “I didn’t know it was proper, serious, until then.”

“When you were with Perrie.” Niall frowns; she didn’t mean anyone to get hurt, least of all Perrie. (She feels bad, then, for all the negative thoughts she’d had to tamp down, in the beginning.)

“Yeah.” Zayn shrugs, looks down at her hands. Her nail varnish is chipped. “It didn’t last long after, anyway.”

Weirdly, it’s a lot to take in; Niall’s heart feels too big for her chest, like it’s going to crush her ribs and burst out of her. “I love you a lot,” she says.

Sometime soon, she’ll explain when she fell in love; that day when they all played football and Zayn laughed as she let another fucking goal in, and shrugged in a what can you do? kind of way and Niall’s heart skipped several beats.

Later, though. Right now she’s dangerously close to getting choked up so she curls close and just breathes.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says when she’s gotten herself more under control. “Your hair. I’m getting proper good at it, now.”

“You should go back to it, too,” Zayn says. She sounds sleepy, drained. “We can match.”

Niall laughs. “Not sure I can match up with you, babe.” She’s not being self-deprecating; of the two of them Zayn’s the more gorgeous and everyone knows it.

Zayn sits up. “What?”

She laughs again, an aborted little sound. “Just—you can pull it off better than me, yeah? That’s all I’m saying.”

“I can’t,” Zayn says. She makes an annoyed little noise and climbs up on top of Niall, presses her down against the couch. “You know I fancy the fuck out of you, yeah?”

Niall nods. “Yeah,” she breathes out. It sounds desperate even to her own ears.

Zayn smirks. “Then you know how hot I think you are.”

“I know, jesus,” Niall gets out.

“Do you, though?” Zayn asks. She trails her fingers down Niall’s side, messes with the edge of Niall’s shirt. “Like, do you know how fucking much I love your stomach?”

Niall’s not sure she can take this and they’ve not even started anything. Fuck. “My stomach?” she asks, going for confused and landing on really turned on. “Didn’t think that was one of my—strong suits,” she manages as Zayn gets off the couch and kisses at her hipbones.

“It’s so soft,” Zayn says, “you’re toned but soft, too, god.”

Niall spreads her legs and lets Zayn settle between them, pulls off her shirt in one go. “I love you,” she says, trying to pull Zayn up.

Zayn keeps her down with a hand on her thigh, pressing gently. “Not done.” She kisses her way up Niall’s chest until she’s kneeling and mouthing at the space between her breasts, just above the clasp of her bra. “Love your tits,” she says, undoing the clip and tossing it to the side. “Small but, like, nice. Really nice.”

“You should be a writer,” Niall says because she can’t think about this, can’t, “got such a way with words.”

“Shut up and let me tell you how sexy you are,” Zayn says. She’s laughing but there’s a serious note to her voice, something Niall doesn’t know how to place. “Your legs, too,” she continues like there hadn’t been an interruption, running her hands up and down Niall’s thighs. “You could be a runner, you know? You’ve got these muscles. God. Gorgeous.” She pulls Niall’s jeans down, tosses them to the side as well, mouths at the space below her knickers.

Niall arches her back, breath coming out in quick little pants. “Fuck,” she whimpers. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Niall focuses on her, grabs Zayn’s shirt and pulls her up with it. “Kiss me,” she manages.

“Just kiss you?” Zayn asks, holding herself so she’s barely touching Niall. Her thumb’s stroking over Niall’s hipbone, a barely-there touch.

“Anything,” Niall says.

Zayn smirks, so quick it’s almost as though she didn’t. She kisses Niall, a slow, sweet thing, and rubs at her through her knickers. “You’re soaked,” she breathes.

It should sound stupid; it should sound cheesy and porny but the way she says it, tremble at the edge of her words—fuck. Fuck. “Yeah,” Niall breathes, lifting her legs and resting her feet on the coffee table in front of her. “‘s your fault.”

“Fuck—” For the first time, Zayn’s demeanor cracks and Niall can see the way she’s shaking, the way she’s staring at Niall like she’s overwhelmed. It’s reassuring. “Fuck,” she says again, kissing her harder, one hand sliding into her hair while the other keeps touching her, teasing her.

Niall comes with one hand gripping Zayn’s hair and the other holding onto the couch, all her muscles tensed. Zayn’s got one hand in her own shorts and it only takes Niall kissing her for a few clumsy moments before she’s coming, too, panting out against Niall’s mouth.

They lie on the couch, wrapped up together.

  
  


“How do I look?” Zayn asks, walking out of the bathroom.The shirt she’s wearing shows off her tattoos, little letters littered across her arms. When she puts her hands on her hips, it shows off the bird she’d gotten inked there.

Niall’s eyes widen. Zayn’s put on purple eyeliner, too, and her hair is damp but bright, bright lilac and—”God,” she breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

Zayn grins, a soft, almost shy thing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, pulling her down for a kiss, tugging at the strands. “Fucking gorgeous, god.”

Zayn smiles and ruffles her hair. “Good, then?” she asks.

Niall just kisses her again in answer.

  
  


Niall’s lying on Louise’s floor, staring up at the ceiling. The flat feels emptier without Harry; even though Liam’s there, it feels different. Harry’s grabbed all her things, all her ship figures(honestly, Harry’s obsession with ships will never, ever make sense to anyone but her) and hats are gone.

Lou’s on her bed, pad and paper in hand. She’s chewing on the cap. “I don’t know how to do this,” she mumbles around it.

Niall sits up on her elbows. “It’s not that hard. Just say what you feel.”

“I’m sorry I nearly cheated on you, I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life,” Lou says, deadpan. “Not a very good song.”

“Just—start small. Be honest. How does she make you feel?”

Lou thinks for a long moment. “Strong,” she comes up with. “She makes me stronger. I don’t know how to be without her.”

And that’s—not entirely healthy, but that’s a talk for another day. “So talk about that,” Niall offers. “You don’t need to rhyme or anything. Just… be honest.”

Above her, the overhead fan turns and turns. It’s not much of a relief; the flat is hot and sticky with it, uncomfortable. Niall closes her eyes, drifts in and out of sleep.

When her muscles are stiff and sore from lying on the wood ground, Lou comes and sits next to her. Her knees are pulled up to her chest. She looks soft like this, vulnerable; the bags under her eyes, the greasy shine to her hair, are all more apparent this close. “I’ve got—something,” she says. “Not much, but a start.”

Niall scans it. It’s rough, and she’s not sure of all the words (they’re crossed out and written over and halfway erased) but it rings true. Lou’s looking at her like she’s terrified, eyes wide, biting her lip.

“How is it?” she asks.

Niall smiles. “Good, babe,” she promises. “You sure you don’t want to—fuck, I dunno, sing it to her?”

“Nah,” Lou says. She looks down. “I’m not one for singing—and I need to be there with her when she hears it.”

“You could just apologize,” Niall offers, gentle. “In words instead of a song.”

Lou shrugs, a single lift of her shoulder. She’s not making eye contact. “I’d lose my nerve,” she says. “What if she says no?”

“Then she says no, but you’ll be sure.”

“I couldn’t—tell her myself. Not until after I’ve seen how she reacts to the—the song.” She bites her lip. “I’m a little bit of a coward, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, “but it’s—that’s okay.” She kisses Lou’s head. “Just make sure you actually talk to her, yeah? Don’t wait just because you’re scared.”

“I won’t.” Lou exhales, long and slow, and stares at the ceiling. “I promise.”

  
  


Niall and Liam are sitting on Niall’s couch, watching a rerun of Friends. Niall’s feet are in Liam’s lap, her head resting against the couch.

“So how’s Zayn?” Liam asks, pressing her thumb into Niall’s ankle bone.

Niall turns red, can feel her cheeks heating up. “She’s lovely,” she says, biting her lip. “She’s—we’re good, yeah.” It’s hard to put it into words, the way she’s comfortable, the way everything’s slotted into place.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” LIam says. She smiles at Niall. “You deserve it.”

“I am, yeah,” Niall says. She brings her knees up to her chest. “I’m just—really, really happy.” She can’t keep the stupid, sappy smile off her face.

The door bangs open and Zayn walks in. “It’s fucking hot,” she says, tying up her hair. “Fuck this, I thought England was supposed to be cold all the time.

“Speak of the devil,” Liam says under her breath, nudging Niall. Louder, she says, “Would you rather it rain all the time?”

“Don’t remind me of this in spring, but yes.” Zayn walks in properly, sits down next to Niall and rests her head on her shoulder. “What’re we watching?”

“Nothing important.” Niall kisses her, quick. “How’s your day been?”

Zayn plops down next to her, kissing her cheek. “Lovely, thanks.”

Niall transfers over until she’s lying half in Zayn’s lap, breathing in with a smile and closing her eyes.

  
  
  


Niall’s making dinner and dancing to Justin Bieber, spinning around the kitchen. She’s not sure who all’s eating; she invited Liam and Louise but Lou’d begged off right away, said she needed to practice footie or something. (Niall doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t blame her either; it was awkward enough with Danielle there.)

“Hey, can I talk to you a moment?” It’s Harry, leaning against the doorframe. She’s picking at her nails, looking not at Niall but a spot to the left of her.

Niall turns the burner down and nods, leans against the counter and crosses her arms. “Yeah, course. What’s up?”

Harry shrugs. She’s so tall but she looks so fragile, in her too-big shirt (it’s one of Nick’s, Niall thinks) and trackies. “I don’t know what to do about Lou,” she mumbles.

Fuck. “What—what do you mean?”

Harry bites her lip. “I just—it’s been a few weeks. I should be fine.” She frowns. “I’m not, though, and I don’t know why.”

“Because you were in love with her. It’s gonna be like that a while, I think. It’s shit, but it’s true.” She pauses, looks at the ground. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“Nah.” Harry grimaces. “I know she’d ask me to get back together with her.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah, but I want her to do the work.” Harry shrugs. “I deserved better, yeah? That’s what you guys said. I deserve better. If she wants—whatever, then she’s going to be the one to talk to me.”

“What if she’s scared of talking?” Niall asks mildly, going back to her cooking.

Harry laughs, sharp. “Then she can fucking get over it. She’s the one who—” She breaks off, shakes her head. “It’s her turn, you know?” There’s a hitch in her breathing.

“I know.” Niall goes to her, up on her tiptoes to hug her tight. “You’re right,” she says, sure. “You shouldn’t settle and you do deserve better?”

Harry’s arms are tight around her. She’s still sniffling. “What if no one else wants me like she did?” she asks. “What if that was my only shot at happiness?”

“It’s not,” Niall says, “because you’re wonderful, one of the best people I know, and people like that get more than one chance. Even if she never gets her head out of her arse and talks to you, I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”

Harry laughs, wiping at her eyes. “You’re not a romantic, then.”

“I’m romantic, I just think there’s more than one person out there who can make you happy.” She shrugs.

“What if you and Zayn broke up?” It sounds like it’s intended to be harsh, cold, but it just comes out sad. “Would you still think that then?”

The timer goes off and Niall turns off the stove, leaves it there. Her hands are trembling against the counter. “Yeah,” she says. “I would. It’d be shit and I don’t want to—” Shit, she can’t think about breaking up with Zayn, not now that she’s finally, finally got her—”but I would.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “If you say so.” It’s soft, a little sad.

“It’ll stop being so terrible,” Niall says. “And you two might work your shit out, you never know.”

“I hope so,” Harry whispers. “I feel stupid but I do.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“She could have cheated,” Harry says. “I would never—couldn’t ever have thought about it. She—she meant more to me than I did her.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Niall says, gentle.  Harry’s face does a complicated sort of thing, looks like she’s been kicked. Niall adds, “Tell her.”

“I will,” Harry promises. “Just—soon. When it all stops feeling so fresh.”

  
  
  


It’s a few weeks later before she gets a chance to perform her song; in that time she and Lou work on it most days, sitting. Lou sings under her breath and Niall plays the guitar.

“You’ve got a pretty voice,” Niall says. “You could do it, if you wanted.”

“Nah.” Lou shrugs, smiles down at her hands. “Sounds better when it’s you.”

When they’ve got the finished product, they both know. It’s a slow song, a promise as much as a plea.

Lou smiles at her, fingers tapping on her knees. “It’s beautiful,” she says, and then, “do you think it’ll work?”

“I really hope so,” Niall says. “I think You’ve done as much as you can do with it. Now you just need to talk to her.” She doesn’t know what to do; she’s got both Harry and Louise’s confessions in her mind, but she doesn’t want to break the trust of either of them.

“I will,” Lou says. “After the gig, after you play it. I will.”

“Good.” Niall kisses her on the top of the head.

 

 

They’re all there for Niall’s show, crowd around her before she goes on. She grins, and hugs each of them (Lou extra tight; she whispers good luck into her ear before she lets go). She breathes out. She feels kind of sick but in the familiar way.

“You’re going to do great, babe,” Zayn says when they call her up. She nods, goes up there on shaking legs.

She goes through her set quickly, getting more into it as she goes on. She plays Little Things and in the audience, Zayn’s crying. She’s a bit choked up herself.

Finally, it’s time for the last song. She smiles and swallows. “So this, uh, was written by a friend of mine and myself,” she says. “Her name’s Louise Tomlinson, and this—this is for Harry.” She can see Harry stiffen, turn to look at Lou. “This is Strong.”

She plays the first few notes and gets properly into it, closes her eyes as she starts to sing. “My hands, your hands, tied up like two ships…”

At the ships line, Harry grins, holding a hand to her mouth.

She looks out into the crowd as the last notes fall. In the audience, Zayn smiles at her, makes a heart with her hands. I love you, she mouths.

Niall nods, heart too full to say anything. She gets offstage quickly, giving her guitar to Liam. Zayn’s still smiling, drink in hand.

“You’re wonderful, babe,” she says, giving Niall a hug. She smells like beer and sweet smoke; it’s intoxicating.

Niall goes up on her toes to kiss her, properly, chasing the taste of alcohol and something fruitier behind it. “I love you,” she murmurs, feeling high from everything.

Zayn links their fingers together and nods her head at the door of the pub. “Love you, too.” She pauses. “Want to get out of here?”

Next to her, Liam’s talking to Danielle about something—Niall hears Batman and inwardly rolls her eyes, fond. Lou and Harry are murmuring to one another, pressed close enough that they almost look like the same person. They’re talking too softly for Niall to understand, but she hopes they work it out. They’re good together, most of the time.

“I love you,” Harry says, loud, and Lou wraps her arms around her neck, clings tight. She’s crying, but she seems happy, thrilled.

Niall brings her attention back to Zayn, smiles. “Yeah,” she says, and follows Zayn out.

**Author's Note:**

> :) can also be found at [twitter](http://twitter.com/doinwhatwedo) and [tumblr](http://guillotineheart.tumblr.com), if you ever want to shout about lady!1D (or anything else).


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